WHAT'S  ON 
THE  WORKER'S  MIND 


WHITING   WILLIAMS 


WHAT'S  ON 
THE  WORKER'S  MIND 


WHITING  WILLIAMS 

FORMERLY    PERSONNEL   DIRECTOR  OF  THE    HYDRAULIC 
PRESSED   STEEL   COMPANY 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1920 


CoprmioHT,  1920.  BT 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'8  SONS 


Published  September,  1920 


PREFACE 

"WORSE  than  at  any  time  in  history" — that  seems  the 
only  proper  way  to  describe  the  present  relations  between 
the  various  persons  commonly  grouped,  hi  these  industrial 
times,  as  Labor,  Management,  Capital,  and  the  Public — 
the  investors  of  brawn,  brains,  and  bullion,  and  the  "bour- 
geoisie." 

For  that  reason  it  has  seemed,  on  the  whole,  desirable  to 
make  public  hi  this  way  records  and  observations  put  down 
at  the  close  of  strenuous  days  and  nights,  in  the  belief  that 
the  chief  causes  of  the  troublesome  factors  of  the  situation 
are  as  deep  as  human  nature — and  no  deeper.  If,  some- 
how, the  experiences  described  may  help  to  a  better  under- 
standing of  each  other's  minds  and  hearts,  the  effort  will 
be  accounted  not  in  vain.  C^tainly  such  a  better  under- 
standing of  the  fundamental  humanness  of  all  the  persons 
connected  with  the  industrial  process,  whether  in  one  group 
or  another — and  most  of  us  are  hi  two  or  three  of  those 
groups  at  different  tunes — is  indispensable  to  both  the  pres- 
ervation and  the  upbuilding  of  the  life  of  our  nation — and, 
perhaps,  through  it,  of  the  world. 

Because  neither  commendation  nor  criticism  of  communi- 
ties or  companies  is  intended  or  desired,  names  are  not 
given  correctly  and  geography  is  purposely  obscured. 

Some  effort  has  been  made  to  restrain  the  temptation  to 
draw  conclusions  from  the  various  experiences  and  testi- 
monies at  the  tune  encountered.  At  the  close  of  their  re- 
cital I  shall  make  bold  to  set  forth  what  seem  to  me  proper 
interpretations,  but  not  without  giving  then,  as  now,  my 


vi  PREFACE 

full  blessing  to  any  and  all  readers  who  may  find  themselves 
arrived  at  very  different  conclusions. 

The  particular  reason  for  trying  to  get  at  the  whole  mat- 
ter hi  this  particular  way  arises  from  the  belief  that  men's 
actions  spring  rather  from  their  feelings  than  from  their 
thoughts,  and  that  people  cannot  be  interviewed  for  their 
feelings.  The  interviewer  can  only  listen,  and  then  try  to 
understand  because  he  is  not  only  hearing  but  experiencing 
and  sympathizing. 

Since  the  period  described  jobs  have  become  more  plen- 
tiful. This  does  not  at  all  weaken  my  conviction  of  the 
fundamental  importance  to  the  worker  of  the  daily  job  as 
the  axle  of  his  entire  world.  On  the  contrary,  it  serves,  I 
believe,  only  to  complicate  the  whole  industrial  problem  in 
certain  ways — ways  which  shall  receive  attention  before 
the  book  is  ended. 

WHITING  WILLIAMS. 

June,  1920. 


CONTENTS 

PART  I— OVERALLS 

CHAPTER  PAQB 

I.    HUNTING  A  JOB 3 

II.    IN  A  TEN-THOUSAND-MAN-POWER  STEEL  PLANT    ...  11 

III.  IN  A  ROLLING-MILL 39 

IV.  "STEEL  STILL  SLOW — MINERS  WANTED" 71 

V.    A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN 106 

VI.    THE  CIRCLE  OF  THE  HIRINQ-GATES 150 

VII.    WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS 157 

VIII.     IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY 175 

IX.    IN  THE  IRON-MINES 205 

X.    AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN 238 

PART  II— FINDINGS 

XI.    SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS 281 

XII.    SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS 293 

XIII.  THE  WAY  OUT— AND  MANAGEMENT 309 

XIV.  THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE  PUBLIC  .  319 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Whiting  Williams Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Charging  an  open-hearth  furnace 24 

Pouring  the  metal  into  the  moulds 34 

Some  types  from  the  coal  and  steel  towns 62 

About  to  descend  into  the  mine 82 

Taking  down  the  first  shot 98 

Going  to  the  day's  work 110 

A  freight  engine  lifted  by  a  crane 132 

Migratory  workers 154 

Laying  the  keel 228 

"Where  coal  and  ore  meet" 254 

"Any  chance  of  a  man's  gettin' on 'round  here  to-day?"      .     .     .  264 

The  author  as  a  steel  worker  264 


PART  I 
OVERALLS 


CHAPTER  I 

HUNTING  A  JOB 

Cleveland,  Ohio, 
January  30,  1919. 

I  SUPPOSE  the  reason  why  that  song,  "Hanging  Danny 
Dee-ver  hi  the  mor — ning"  keeps  coming  into  my  mind 
is  that  early  to-morrow  I  walk  the  plank  off  the  good  ship 
"White  Collar"  into  some  seven  months  of  what  ought  to 
prove  interesting  and  worth-while  adventure  on  the  rough 
seas  of  "Common  Labor." 

With  fair  luck  some  kind  of  unskilled  job  in  a  steel  plant 
should  come  along  before  my  twenty-five  dollars  and  the 
"hocking"  possibilities  of  my  grip  of  old  clothes  give  out. 
If  peace  orders  fail  to  take  the  place  of  the  cancelled  war 
contracts  and  the  present  unemployment  spreads,  I'll  hope 
to  pick  up  enough  to  eat,  at  least,  in  the  way  of  "hand- 
outs" from  the  country's  kindly  housewives. 

With  job  or  without,  the  chief  point  and  purpose  of  it  all 
must  not  escape  me.  It  is  not  to  learn  what  feelings  my 
new  surroundings  will  give  me.  This  is  of  no  interest,  and 
can  easily  be  discounted,  as  due  to  my  years  of  soft-handed 
college  and  social  work.  Instead,  and  on  the  contrary, 
the  constant  aim  must  be  to  use  the  job  and  its  surround- 
ings to  carry  me  so  close  to  my  fellow-workers — or  fellow- 
hoboes,  if  necessary — that  they  will  tell  me  about  them- 
selves— their  thoughts  and  especially  their  feelings;  for 
these,  I  am  sure,  have  a  lot  more  to  do  with  the  doings  of 
all  of  us  than  our  thoughts. 

Most  of  our  morning's  news — Bolshevists  in  Russia  and 
Germany,  rebels  in  Roumania,  rioters  in  Ireland,  strikers  in 

3 


4  WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

England  and  here — means  that  large  groups  of  people  are 
misbehaving  because  they  feel  they're  being  abused  and 
overlooked  or  misunderstood.  If  "men  are  square,"  then 
something  must  be  on  their  mind — hunger,  hopelessness,  or 
sense  of  injustice — or  they  would  behave  as  reasonably 
and  normally  and  decently  as  any  of  us;  they  would  be 
just  as  anxious  to  count  and  "get  on"  and  be  thought  well 
of  by  their  fellow-citizens. 

Maybe  they  won't  let  me  get  close  enough  to  see  what's 
the  trouble.  But  I  have  a  hunch  that  they  will  somehow 
sense  that  I  believe  in  them  and  their  wish  to  be  square, 
exactly  as  I  believe  in  myself  and  everybody  else. 

Well,  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see — and  it's  time  to 
get  some  sleep  before  that  train  begins  to  whistle — ".  .  .  in 
the  mor — ning." 

Steelville, 

3.00P.M.,  Friday, 
January  31. 

Not  much  progress  yet  toward  the  discovery  of  Steel, 
but  already  some  good  findings  in  Humanity.  Expected 
fists,  but  have  found  hands ! 

The  railway  people  were,  if  anything,  a  little  more 
friendly  for  my  sheepskin  overcoat.  The  policemen  take 
me  in  a  friendly  way  by  my  shoulders  and  point  with  a 
jolly  "There  ye  are,  me  friend,  see  it?"  The  public  em- 
ployment clerks  say,  "Not  a  job  in  the  place,"  as  if  they 
were  sorry.  Up-stairs,  there,  a  lorgnetted  woman  (a  vol- 
unteer worker)  wanted  almost  to  pour  me  tea  while  giving 
addresses  for  a  rooming-house.  Workers  assure  me  con- 
cernedly of  their  belief  that  getting  a  job  is  going  to  be 
"the  devil,  all  right,"  but  give  all  the  pointers  they  can. 

One  man  did  yell  at  me.  It  was  when  the  employment 
clerk  referred  me  to  him  to  do  some  steel  chipping  out  of 
town. 

"  You-a  no-a  cheepah  ?  Veil  den — not'ing !  No-a  cheepah, 


HUNTING  A  JOB  5 

no-a  go-a !"  he  shouted,  as  though  I  was  deaf.  But  I  guess, 
at  that,  the  information  required  giving  to  the  whole  room- 
ful of  about  seventy-five  laborers  of  every  conceivable 
nationality  and  of  every  degree  of  respectability — and  lack 
of  it. 

" Previous  experience?  Yes,  sir,  I  used  to  work  in  a 
Tube  Mill  in  S .  But  I'll  take  anything." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  here  to-day." 

That's  the  way  it  has  been  nearly  all  day  here  in  the 
different  employment  offices — with  the  streets  full  of  work- 
less  men.  To  get  away  from  so  much  competition  I  walked 
a  long  distance  out  to  a  plant  of  the Company,  prac- 
tising on  the  way  my  new  working  man's  walk — a  sort  of 
swinging  drawl  of  a  gait.  By  that  time  I  began  to  see 
myself  in  the  bread  line  which  will  be  forming  very  soon 
unless  business  picks  up. 

"If  you're  here  to-night  at  six,  or  to-morrow  morning  at 
seven,  perhaps  we  can  use  you,"  somebody  in  the  superin- 
tendent's corridor  told  me;  "we're  often  short  when  the 
shift  goes  on." 

So  I've  taken  a  dollar  room  at  this  hotel  because  the 
lorgnetted  woman's  only  other  address  would  probably 
want  a  week's  rent  in  advance. 

Believe  me,  I'm  going  to  be  on  hand  at  six!  And  I'll 
either  be  weary  after  ten  hours'  work  to-morrow  morning 
— or  a  waiter  at  those  gates  at  seven.  Because  every  hollow- 
chested  derelict  you  see  is  a  human  sign-board  which  says: 
"Where  I  have  been  there  is  no  work." 

And  it  scares  you. 

Everybody  seems  to  accept  me  for  what  I'm  trying  to  be, 
though  I'm  still  rather  deficient  in  grammarless  lingo. 
But  it  is  most  surprising  that  everybody  is  so  kindly.  I 
wonder  if  it  means  that  a  pressed  coat  and  a  shaved  face 
work  to  keep  a  fellow  away  from  the  real  friendliness  of 
ordinary  human  beings. 


6  WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

A  Public  Library, 
Steelville, 
Feb.  1.  j 

I've  kept  recalling  that  "same  old  cat  yet"  story  of  the 
boy  who  ran  away  and,  after  what  seemed  to  be  years  of 
absence,  returned  that  same  evening  to  marvel  that  the 
same  tabby  was  still  under  the  home  roof.  It  makes  me 
want  to  laugh  and  mourn  at  the  same  time  to  think  that  I 
entered  this  new  world  only  yesterday. 

In  the  absorption  of  trying  to  "live  a  life,"  as  the  college 
presidents  call  it  on  Commencement  Day,  I  had  forgotten 
how  endless  a  day  could  be  when  all  your  thought  must  go 
merely  to  trying  to  earn  a  living.  It  has  to  go  slowly,  just 
because  every  move  is  so  deadly  serious.  You  will  either 
get  that  job  or  you  won't.  If  you  get  it — great  joy !  Life 
is  then  and  thereby  re-established.  If  you  don't — then 
more  pinching  and  wandering  and  worry  about  the  future 
and  bum-land.  So  you  watch  all  the  harder  for  the  arrival 
of  the  gang-boss  who  is  to  come  out — and,  maybe,  settle 
your  problem. 

Last  night  for  an  hour  I  stood  at  the  gate  with  twenty- 
five  others,  negroes  and  foreigners,  peering  steadily  into 
that  plant  while  the  two  policemen  looked  at  us  from  above 
their  blue-coated  stomachs  as  though  we  were  so  many 
hogs  threatening  to  rush  in  and  eat  up  the  place.  Men 
don't  seem  to  chat  or  make  friends  then  because  each  feels 
the  other  his  competitor — so  we  all  stood  shivering,  silent, 
and  intent.  Whenever  we  saw  any  one  we  thought  might 
be  the  boss,  we  all  hunched  up  our  shoulders  so  as  to  look 
husky  and  tried  to  catch  his  eye. 

The  gulf  there  is  between  men  at  such  a  time !  Between 
those  who  came  proudly  out  of  the  gate  swinging  their 
dinner-buckets  and  feeling  themselves  members  of  the 
privileged  class  of  job-holders,  and  us  who  looked  on  in 
envy.  The  only  bigger  gulf  I  can  imagine  to-night  is  be- 


HUNTING  A  JOB  7 

tween  such  as  us  and  the  lordly  potentate  known  as  the 
plant  policeman.  It  just  took  my  breath  away  to  see  some 
of  them  (the  job-holders,  of  course)  positively  familiar  with 
these  policemen ! 

Finally  all  of  us  had  to  give  up,  ten  minutes  or  so  after 
the  big  gate  closed,  and  only  three  (all  negroes)  had  been 
taken  on.  Altogether  it  was  one  of  the  longest  and  most 
wearing  hours  of  my  life.  I  walked  wearily  back  through 
a  very  deserted  street,  safe  in  the  knowledge  that  nobody 
would  think  me  worth  holding  up. 

By  six-forty  this  morning  I  again  had  my  eyes  glued 
on  that  gate — together  with  almost  seventy-five  others. 
After  the  slowest  and  almost  the  most  serious  half -hour  of 
my  life,  the  labor-boss  failed  to  show  up  completely.  We 
were  a  disappointed  and  blasphemous  crowd. 

"Look  at  them  hands!"  said  one  muscular  fellow. 
"  Ain't  they  good  enough  to  earn  a  living  for  my  wife  and 
kids!  But  I  been  in  every  place  in  this  whole  district. 
Ain't  that  a  h —  -  of  a  country  for  a  man  to  live  in?" 

"It's  these  -     -  Democrats,"  spoke  up  a  boy. 

"No,  it's  those  -     -  Republicans,"  said  another. 

After  consuming  my  beer  in  a  near-by  saloon  as  slowly  as 
possible,  so  as  to  get  the  lay  of  the  land,  I  asked  a  drunken 
young  Pole  how  could  a  fellow  get  a  job  around  here,  any- 
ways. He  looked  me  over  carefully. 

"If  you  got  education,  ask  for  Mr.  B ." 

The  power  of  a  name !  They  say  that  primitive  peoples 
believe  you  have  power  over  a  spirit  if  you  know  its  name. 
Sounds  reasonable.  Anyway  it  worked.  When  I  asked 

the  policeman  for  "Mr.  B ,"  I  seemed  to  rise  miles 

in  his  estimation  instantly.  Action  was  immediate.  Mr. 
B—  -  seemed  mystified  by  me — though  I'd  rubbed  my 
hands  on  the  floor  to  make  them  dirtier  before  he  came  out 
—until  I  said  I'd  failed  at  clerking  and  selling  and  wanted 
to  make  my  hands  earn  my  living  now. 


8  WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

"The  men  latest  hired  have  all  been  laid  off,  and  must 
have  first  chance  on,"  he  said  in  a  kindly  voice.  "Steel  is 
slow  just  now.  War  contracts  cancelled,  no  peace  orders 
in.  Walk  up  to  the blast  furnaces." 

No  job  at  the  furnaces — nor  at  the  rolling-mills  farther 
on.  By  this  tune  I  was  thinking  too  much  about  bread 
lines  to  spend  even  a  nickel  of  my  fast-vanishing  pile  for 
beer — and  the  bar-keep's  help — in  the  saloon  where  I 
stopped  for  a  rest. 

"I  should  say  not!"  shot  back  a  customer  with  much 
heat  when  asked  if  he  knew  of  a  job. 

Back  hi  town  the  employment  office  told  of  3,000  just 
laid  off  at  one  plant,  and  of  other  hundreds  elsewhere. 
Such  things,  aided  and  abetted  by  those  bums  who  line  the 
streets  and  haunt  the  gates,  do  rub  the  terror  of  joblessness 
into  a  fellow's  system.  I  know  now  just  how  bitterly  one 
of  them  felt  when  there  at  the  common  labor  desk  the  clerk 
told  him: 

"Say,  where  was  you? — just  signed  up  thirty-seven 

whites  and  twenty-seven  blacks  for  the  Railroad  a 

minute  ago." 

The  man's  oaths  were  not  of  anger  but  of  the  deepest 

anguish  and  despair:  "Oh,  the luck !  I  been  here 

six  hours,  and  I  had  to  step  out  for  only  two  minutes! 
Oh,  my  God!" 

At  the  near-free  lunch-counter  hi  a  crowded  saloon  I 
understood  the  glow  of  joy  in  a  young  fellow  who  pro- 
claimed himself  the  "luckiest  man  on  earth"  for  having 
found  a  job  that  morning  which  paid  him  "one  dollar  and 
six  bits"  for  a  few  hours'  work.  The  bar-tender  became  my 
friend  when  I  told  him  of  my  luck: 

"Say,  I  could  'a'  placed  you  if  you'd  run  in  here  last 
night — twenty- two  a  week  and  found"  (board  and  room). 

"Oh,  bar-tendin',  of  course" — when  I  asked,  "What 
doin'?" 


HUNTING  A  JOB  9 

He  seemed  much  disappointed  by  my  inexperience  in 
that  line.  But  he  has  a  friend,  so  he  told  me  an  hour  ago, 
and  if  I'll  drop  in  Monday 

Meanwhile  he  begs  me,  if  my  purse  is  limited,  to  "go 
mighty  careful  with  every  penny  you  got." 

"You  see  we  fellers  get  to  know  the  signs.  I  been  pan- 
handled for  more  free  drinks  or  bowls  of  soup  in  the  last 
three  weeks  than  in  the  whole  year  before.  You  take  it 
from  me  we're  to  have  an  awful  hard  winter." 

I'm  guessing  he's  right.  This  afternoon,  after  spending  a 
good  dollar  to  go  to  a  big  plant  outside  of  town,  I  found  the 
same  hopeless  situation.  A  week  or  so  more  of  this  and  I'll 
have  to  sew  up  my  last  five  dollars  and  try  for  a  dish- 
washer's job  to  keep  me  until  the  sales-managers  can  tell 
a  happier  tale  than  yesterday,  when  one  was  quoted  as 
having  "the  first  week  in  our  entire  history  without  one 
single  steel  order !"  I'm  watching  my  money  hard.  Going 
without  even  a  dollar  watch.  What  has  tried  me  most 
sorely  these  cold  days  has  been  the  loss  of  one  of  my  thick 
mittens.  To-morrow  I  must  find  a  cheaper  room.  Yes- 
terday I  saw  some  hoboes  warming  their  hands  around  a 
fire  by  the  railroad.  I  certainly  hope  I  won't  have  to  join 
their  open-air  club. 

Getting  on  with  my  grammar.  "Ain't  there  no  job  around 
here  now'ures?"  comes  now  with  fair  ease,  also  some  mild 
but  passable  profanity  if  I  make  a  good  run  and  jump  for 
it.  But  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world  to  me  just  now  is  a 
job — preferably  in  a  steel-mill. 

The  next  biggest  things  of  the  day  are  the  hopelessness, 
the  foreboding  disastrousness  of  joblessness,  with  its  threat- 
ened entrance  into  the  evil-smelling  army  of  hoboes;  the 
endlessness  of  the  jobless  day  of  constant  trudgings,  ask- 
ings, and  turn-downs;  and  the  ease  with  which  all  this  leads 
into  the  saloon. 

A  saloon  is  usually  warm,  and  a  jobless  man  is  usually 


10         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

cold.  I  certainly  was  this  morning  at  the  gate,  though 
many's  the  time  to-day  I've  blessed  the  man  who  sold  me 
my  sheepskin.  It's  also,  usually,  well-lighted.  That 
seems  to  give  the  eyes  the  feeling  of  a  sort  of  spiritual  heat 
— well-desired  after  straining  them  to  watch  for  the  gang- 
boss  to  appear. 

My  particular  bar-keep  friend  here  by  the  labor  office  in 
the  cheap  rooming-house  district  seems  a  sort  of  traffic 
cop,  Bradstreet's,  and  Pilgrim's  Progress.  He  appears  to 
think  it  all  a  part  of  his  job. 

"See  what  Jim  gave  to  me  to  keep  for  him,"  said  another 
bar-tender  to  him — and  showed  him  a  fat  roll  of  bills. 

"Yes,"  said  my  friend,  "he  asked  me  to  keep  it  for  him 
last  night,  but  I  was  too  well  tanked  myself  to  make  it 
safe  to  take  it.  The  fellow  was  a  friend  o'  mine,  you  know," 
he  added  to  me. 

To-day  my  three  days'  beard  made  me  appear  too  rough 
to  dare  look  in  decent  people's  faces  on  the  street.  A  little 
girl  I  passed  in  a  nice  residential  district  was  evidently 
afraid  of  me.  That's  not  pleasant. 


CHAPTER  II 
IN  A  TEN-THOUSAND-MAN-POWER  STEEL  PLANT 

Stackton, 

Monday,  February  3. 

I  feel  a  lot  better  than  most  princes  feel  nowadays — a 
whole  lot  better.  I've  got  a  job ! 

After  lying  awake  most  of  the  night  in  a  dirty,  top-story, 
stale-smelling,  enormously  noisy  three-dollars-a-week  room, 
I  went  over  to  that  same  plant  gate  again  at  six-forty-five, 
and  after  an  endless  hour  tried  to  wig-wag  the  labor  gang- 
boss  and  later  the  works  superintendent. 

"Nothin'  doing  to-day,"  was  the  answer.  "Try  again  at 
six  this  evening." 

The  same  thing  at  another  big  mill  a  few  doors  down. 

By  luck  a  car  came  by  just  then,  labelled  for  a  famous 
steel  town;  so  I  jumped  on  and  shortly  found  myself  in  an 
employment  office  filled  to  the  ceiling  with  a  coughing, 
swearing,  smoking,  ill-smelling  gang  of  fifty  representatives 
of  all  the  known  races,  including  Mexicans,  negroes,  Indians, 
and  Turks.  Up  at  the  window  finally  I  was  taken  on  as 
"labor." 

The  boy  was  slow  enough  in  asking  all  manner  of  ques- 
tions— talking  through  two  misplaced  holes  in  plate-glass 
certainly  makes  a  bad  go  for  any  real  exchange  of  facts  or 
ideas.  The  young  clerks  supposed  to  do  the  hiring  gave 
most  of  their  time  to  tickling  the  backs  of  the  necks  or  the 
much-exposed  chests  of  the  young  stenographers,  while  my 
newly  hired  or  unhired  associates  looked  on  and  let  out 
grunts  of  impatience  and  disapproval  hi  as  many  tongues 
as  Babel  ever  knew. 

11 


12         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

Finally  a  policeman  came  in  and  very  roughly  ordered: 
"Everybody  out — clean  outa  here,  you! — Unless  you  got 
a  ticket — or  are  a-waitin'  to  see  the  doctor." 

Nobody  could  tell  whether  it  was  because  they  had  hired 
enough  for  the  day  or  what.  Having  a  ticket  I  stayed  for 
the  doctor.  My,  but  he  is  a  sour  one !  When  one  fellow 
looked  at  the  numbers  with  one  eye  (the  other  being  cov- 
ered with  a  card)  and  mistook  an  "8"  for  a  "6,"  he  exploded 
with  an  oath,  as  if  he  considered  it  a  personal  insult.  Later 
we  undressed  and  were  tested  for  heart,  lungs,  hernia,  de- 
formities, identifying  marks,  etc.  Then  we  dressed  and 
got  cards  to  a  company  boarding-house  until  we  could  get 
settled. 

The  dirtiest,  rankest  outfit  imaginable!  Even  the  "fo'- 
castle"  on  our  cattle-boat  out  of  Boston  was  less  so. 

I  asked  the  fat,  jolly  woman  in  charge  if  she  had  any 
single  or  small  rooms.  She  threw  up  her  hands  and  laughed : 

"My  God,  no!    Man  alive,  no!" 

However,  she's  a  good  sort.  She  showed  me  out  past  the 
spilled  garbage-cans  and  pointed  to  another  street  where  I 
could  rent  a  better  room  if  I  had  the  money.  I've  found  a 
fair  place  there  with  an  American  housewife  in  charge- 
much  better  and  cleaner  than  the  city  room  where  I  sit 
now.  Both  cost  three  dollars,  and  both  required  the  money 
in  advance.  To-morrow  morning,  after  ten  or  twelve  hours' 
work  in  the  labor  gang,  I  guess  it  won't  make  much  differ- 
ence where  or  what  my  room  is. 

Yesterday,  by  the  way,  at  a  meeting  for  organizing  the 
steel  workers,  the  speaker  was  apparently  willing  to  be  a 
Bolshevist  or  anything  else  if  that  would  help  his  case  for 
unionism. 

"We've  got  Chicago  all  in,  also  Joliet;  Gary  is  eighty 
per  cent  ours.  A  fine  beginning  in  Cleveland  and  Youngs- 
town.  We're  after  an  eight-hour  day  and  higher  wages. 
When  we  get  eight  hours  we'll  go  after  seven  and,  if  there 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  13 

are  idle  men  still,  then  six.  .  .  .  No  man's  wife  or  baby 
has  a  better  right  to  anything  in  this  world — anything — 
than  yours.  If  we  could  rid  the  world  of  bankers,  lawyers, 
brokers — parasites  all — we'd  have  all  that  we  earn.  But 
if  you  will  join  the  union  we'll  get  everything  anyway." 

All  delivered  hi  a  smooth,  jolly,  and  most  effective  way. 
The  men  seemed  to  think  it  very  "  straightforward  and 
blamed  sensible!"  I  hadn't  supposed  many  union  men 
were  so  extreme  as  that.  Of  course,  I  don't  suppose  he'd 
shoot  the  bankers  and  others,  but  he  sure  would  make  'em 
go  to  work — that  is,  with  their  hands.  What  function  or 
reward  would  be  left  for  brains  and  other  than  manual 
ability  was  not  mentioned.  Still  I  had  the  feeling  that  if 
he  thought  he  could  get  men  into  his  union  without  talk- 
ing so  much  violence  he'd  be  happy  to  drop  the  rough  stuff. 

Stackton, 

Tuesday,  February  4. 

Did  I  work?  Why,  I  found  more  work  than  I  had  sup- 
posed was  still  in  the  civilized  world !  Twelve  hours  of  the 
hardest  kind  of  back-testing  labor  under  what  I  would  call 
difficult  conditions. 

Here's  what  has  happened  to  me  and  my  search  for  the 
experience  of  hard  labor: 

At  four-thirty  I  sat  down  in  the  company  boarding-house 
to  meat  stew,  plenty  of  bread  and  stewed  tomatoes,  with 
two  white  men — may  have  been  Americans,  but  probably 
weren't — and  ten  Mexicans  of  various  classes,  including  a 
couple  of  Indians. 

With  the  landlady's  package  of  thick  sandwiches,  cake, 
and  an  apple,  I  reported  as  per  orders  to  the  employment 
office  and  was  shortly  sent  with  others  under  a  foreign-born 
worker  to  the  labor  boss. 

After  getting  our  brass  numbers  we  took  our  shovels  out 
of  a  shanty,  went  up  past  most  of  the  fourteen  big  open- 


14         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

hearth  furnaces,  and  finally  reached  one  being  torn  down 
for  rebuilding.  We  deposited  our  coats  in  various  places 
— there  were  no  lockers — and  proceeded  to  get  busy. 

We  began  at  five-thirty — three  of  us  Americans,  one 
Italian  boy,  one  Mexican,  one  Greek,  and  several  Slavic 
and  Russian  fellows — all  of  them  hardly  able  to  say  more 
than  a  very  few  English  words,  though  they  had  all  been  in 
this  country  a  number  of  years.  It  was  bricks  and  brick- 
bats, and  then  more  bricks  and  more  "bats."  We  shovelled 
or  pitched  broken  bricks  into  big  ladles  or  boxes  in  the 
"cinder-pit"  beneath  us  at  the  back  of  the  furnace;  we 
piled  good  ones;  we  took  turns  getting  into  the  hot  rums 
of  the  furnace  substructure  and  lifted  and  tossed  and 
shovelled  them  up  to  the  platform  for  the  others  to  carry 
and  shovel.  Occasionally  we  rested  a  few  moments.  At 
all  tunes  we  sweat — especially  when  down  hi  the  ruins. 
Indeed  we  had  trouble  to  keep  from  fainting  with  the  heat 
as  we  got  farther  down  into  the  hot  "down- take"  or  ver- 
tical passageway  at  the  end  of  the  furnace.  After  an  hour 
or  two  the  Greek  grew  so  dizzy  that  he  was  let  off  from  his 
turn  of  going  down — which  meant  more  frequent  turns  for 
the  rest  of  us. 

Always  bricks,  bricks,  and  more  bricks — hot,  cold,  and 
medium — till  back  and  arms  whispered  to  suggest  that  we 
double-cross  bricks  the  rest  of  our  natural  lives.  After  a 
day  or  two  of  bricks  had  passed,  I  asked  somebody,  "What 
tune?"  and  was  informed  "Oh,  about  nme-t'irty."  I  never 
was  so  surprised  and  disapppinted.  But  I  couldn't  stop 
moving  those  bricks  (I  hate  to  think  how  I  feel  about 
bricks)  until  finally,  at  the  end  of  a  Philadelphia  week, 
twelve  o'clock  came  and  we  could  eat  our  lunch  out  of  our 
bags — a  half-hour — and  then  start  moving  more  bricks 
until  six  A.  M. 

At  that,  I  came  through  as  well  as  any,  partly,  perhaps, 
because  I  had  more  in  my  mind.  In  between  I  was  learning 


IN  A   STEEL  PLANT  15 

about  open  hearths  in  which  the  steel  is  made,  and  cinder- 
pits  in  which  it  is  " tapped"  from  the  furnaces  into  the  great 
ladles,  and  then  poured  into  the  ingot  moulds.  I  wished 
for  my  painter  friends — for  more  magnificent  scenes  there 
never  were!  Too  many  bricks  in  my  back  to  try  to  de- 
scribe it  now — but  I  was  happy  to  be  at  last  in  the  midst 
of,  and  a  part  of,  so  fiery  and  stupendous  a  spectacle. 

Must  not  take  time,  either,  to  give  my  first  impressions 
of  what  is  mainly  responsible  for  the  attitude  of  all  of  us 
toward  brick-bats — namely,  the  twelve-hour  shift.  When 
I  started  in  I  figured  I'd  keep  going  as  long  as  I  could  and 
loaf  after  I  was  played  out.  I  couldn't  get  on  with  the  pro- 
gramme. First  the  little  Italian  boy  tapped  me  on  the 
shoulder  and  advised  "Lotsa  time!  Take  easy!"  I 
slowed  down  a  notch  or  two.  A  little  later  the  Russian, 
wiping  off  the  sweat  as  he  sat  for  a  moment  on  a  pile  of 
bricks,  cautioned:  "You  keel  yourself.  Twelve  hours  long 
time."  Finally,  after  every  one  had  remonstrated,  I  got 
down  to  a  proper  gait — so  you'd  have  to  sight  by  a  post 
to  see  if  I  was  moving.  But  at  that  I  guess  they  knew 
better  than  I — I'm  certainly  tired  enough  as  it  is. 

But  we  were  not  the  only  ones  who  tried  to  adapt  the 
job  to  our  capacities.  A  large  part  of  the  after-midnight 
portion,  our  boss  sat  with  his  head  on  his  hands  and  slept 
while  we  kept  on  working  at,  say,  fifty-five  per  cent  regular 
"load."  At  about  four  he  varied  the  monotony  by  taking 
us  out  in  the  rain  to  carry  in  some  back-breaking  iron  roof- 
beams  for  the  rebuilt  furnace.  After  that  it  was  a  contest 
to  see  who  could  keep  out  of  his  sight  and  move  the  fewest 
bricks.  At  five  everybody  sat  down  and  smoked  and 
dozed,  waiting  for  five-fifty  to  start  back  with  our  shovels 
to  the  shanty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  had  given  all  the 
energy  we  had. 

I  was,  of  course,  new  and  green.  That's  true;  and  that's 
why  I  came  through  so  well.  Those  on  the  turn  day  after 


16         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

day — or  night  after  night — gave  considerably  less  than  I 
because  they  had  less  to  give.  After  several  hours  of  sleep 
I  have  less  to  give  to-night  than  I  had  last  night. 

I'll  take  another  hour  of  sleep  and  get  into  my  working- 
clothes  for  supper  at  my  new  boarding-house,  take  my 
package,  and  start  again  to  cover  that  long,  long  trail 
a-winding  between  five-thirty  and  midnight,  and  that 
longer,  longer  trail  from  twelve-thirty  to  six.  And  at  the 
end  of  the  week  of  night  work  and  of  another  week  of  day 
work  I'll  talk  it  over  with  my  back  and  my  bones  and  my 
muscles,  and  my  hopes  of  happiness  in  this  life,  and  get  my 
Greek  and  Mexican  and  Italian  friends  to  do  the  same, 
and  we'll  see  what  we  think; — or  better,  enormously  better, 
what  we  feel  (because  a  fellow  can't  think  and  work  twelve 
hours  with  a  shovel  and  brick-bats,  but  goodness,  how  he 
can  feel  /)  about  the  twelve-hour  shift  for  manual  labor. 
Remembering,  of  course,  that  we  get  45  cents  an  hour, 
and  time-and-a-half  for  over  eight  hours — that's  forty-five 
tunes  fourteen,  which  equals  $6.30  per  turn.  Not  bad  pay. 

Stackton, 
February  5. 

Too  dog-tired  for  pushing  a  tram  of  thought  with  a  pen. 
Here's  why: 

Midnight. — Eating  a  good  lunch  packed  by  my  new 
landlady  (seven  dollars  the  week)  while  seated  up  by  the 
warm  "slag-vent"  at  the  back  of  a  hot  furnace  after  shovel- 
ling, throwing,  and  carrying  brick-bats  and  hard  "cinder" 
out  of  the  bottom  of  our  same  old  torn-down  No.  13,  steadily 
from  5.30. 

12.30  A.  M. — Back  to  the  shovel  and  cinder,  and  aching, 
shovel-worn  forearms. 

2.30. — Constant  shovelling,  always  within  a  few  feet  of 
a  noisy  chisel  eternally  put-put-ing  like  a  machine  gun, 
chattering  and  biting  and  scolding  at  the  adamantine 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  17 

"cinder."  (Taught  how  to  operate  it — very  heavy,  hard, 
jumpy  work — by  a  negro  and  a  friendly  Spaniard.)  Sorer 
forearms.  Less  supervision — boss  reported  asleep. 

Wonderful  views  of  pourings  across  the  cinder-pit,  up- 
turned empty  ladles  soaring  back  to  their  stands,  like  views 
of  heaven  for  beauty  (too  tired  to  describe  now);  dragon- 
like  "mixer"  which  tilts  its  mouth  and  its  hulk  to  receive 
or  give  out  its  250  tons  of  yellow  hot  iron;  glorious  graphite 
sparklets  poured  from  small  ladle,  which  goes  from  the 
mixer  to  the  fronts  of  the  furnaces  to  give  the  drink  of  hot 
"pig"  as  needed  for  the  steel. 

Less  shovellings,  more  carryings  and  throwings — wrists 
too  tired  for  shovelling;  head  thumping  from  that  eternal 
machine  gun  of  a  drill. 

4.00  o'clock. — Thank  God !    Only  one  hour  more ! 

5.00. — Everybody  swears,  quits,  sighs  for  six. 

5.55. — Shovel  shanty — shovels  deposited.  Wait  for 
whistle  around  small  stove — everybody  silent,  groggy, 
heads  on  hands.  Bosses  loud  hi  Slavic  mixed  with  American 
profanity. 

6.00. — Ah ! — whistle  at  last !  Everybody  jumps  and 
wearily  starts  home  through  the  dark  and  snow. 

6.45. — Bath  finished.  (Thank  the  Lord  for  hot  water!) 
Go  for  sausage  and  cakes. 

7.45. — Into  bed.     (Thank  the  Lord  also  for  clean  sheets !) 

3.30. — Awake.  Go  to  work?  All  hi  favor — ?  Wrists 
vote  "No."  Neck  and  shoulders  vote  "No."  Compro- 
mise arranged — more  sleep. 

4.15. — Write  diary  in  bed. 

4.45. — (Three  minutes  from  now)  get  up,  put  on  dirty 
clothes  laid  off  only  a  few  minutes  on  other  side  of  that 
blessed  sleep.  Boarding-house,  supper,  package  lunch, 
and— 

5.30. — Show  number  check  to  gate  policeman,  report  to 
labor  shanty  and  repeat  as  before  till  midnight. 


18         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

There's  one  day  from  the  life  of  the  open-hearth  laborer 
in  Stackton. 

Stackton, 

Wednesday,  February  12. 

Well,  I  will  say  that  the  ten-hour  day  turn  is  enormously 
easier  than  the  twelve-hour  night  shift.  But  when  begun 
Monday  morning  immediately  after  a  week  of  night  work 
totaling  eighty-seven  hours — we  did  seventeen  hours  up 
to  Sunday  noon — it  is  not  particularly  conducive  to  an  en- 
thusiastic picture  of  life  in  general.  A  hot  bath  and  clean 
clothes,  after  taking  off  unbelievably  dirty  and  sweaty 
working  togs,  and  shaking  them  out  of  the  window  (shovel- 
ling up  soot  at  the  bottom  of  a  hot,  drafty  chimney  is  hot 
and  dirty  /)  does  marvels  to  set  you  up  sufficiently  to  eat 
supper  ravenously.  But  shortly  after  that  you  again  feel 
as  though  it  might  be  well  to  go  to  bed  to  get  ready  for 
more  labor — or  else  try  a  movie  or  some  other  form  of  passing 
tune  removed  as  far  as  possible  from  both  mental  and 
physical  effort. 

If  this  town  were  asked  to  put  its  views  into  words  it 
would  ponder  hardly  a  moment  before  condensing  it  into 
three  words — "What  the  hell?"  From  top  to  bottom  that 
seems  the  general  formula  and  prescription.  It  is,  I'm 
sure,  only  the  result,  or  at  least  the  symptom,  of  the  general 
overwork. 

The  gang  bosses,  at  least  those  of  the  labor  gangs,  seem 
to  be  the  worst  examples  of  the  what-the-hell  philosophy. 
Of  course  no  question  is,  apparently,  ever  asked  regarding 
any  matter  whatsoever  in  the  plant  except  in  the  name  of 
the  Devil's  abode.  But  our  bosses  can  put  into  it  an  amount 
of  heat  and  steam  which  makes  it  really  terrifying  to  the 
tired  worker  who  perhaps  took  ten  or  fifteen  more  minutes 
than  positively  necessary  to  "catch-drink-water" — as  these 
bosses  would  say  in  their  broken  English — or  who  sat  down 
because  no  boss  gave  him  any  orders  at  the  moment.  But 


IN   A  STEEL  PLANT  19 

"what-the-hell"  can  come  from  anything  whatever — very 
often  from  the  foreman's  own  failure  to  give  proper  instruc- 
tions. 

"T'row  bricks  off  a  track — over  dere!" 

Everybody  throws  bricks  hi  the  general  direction  of 
boss's  fingers. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  boss  returns — 

"What  da  hell!  Why  you  t'row  bricks  over  damn  ven- 
tilator? No  can  work  furnace.  Me  tell  you  t'row  bricks 
over  dere." 

I  presume  the  bosses  are  quite  as  tired  as  the  rest  of  the 
crowd  because  they  spend  just  as  many  hours  in  the  plant 
as  we  do — though  they  seldom  touch  shovel,  bar,  or  brick 
—and  are  supposed  to  worry  about  getting  the  job  done. 
Which  last  is  the  very  last  thing  any  of  us  under  them  ever 
worry  about — unless  it's  an  especially  easy  job,  when  whis- 
pers go  'round — "Dees  fine  job — take  easy — mebbe  make 
last  all  day." 

But  don't  get  the  idea  that  the  average  labor  boss  really 
does  any  head  work — or  lets  anybody  else  do  it. 

To-day  six  or  eight  of  us  were  taking  the  very  heavy 
checker-brick  out  of  one  of  the  checker-chambers,  or  large 
rooms  under  the  "floor"  of  the  furnaces,  and  so  on  a  level 
with  the  cinder-pit.  Here  the  bricks  are  laid  at  right  angles 
to  each  other  with  square  air  spaces  in  between  like  checker- 
boards. The  great  roomful  of  square-set  fire-brick  thus 
serves  to  catch  and  retain  the  heat  from  the  air  and  smoke 
passing  through  it  from  the  furnace  on  the  way  to  the  stack 
hi  order  to  give  it  back  to  the  cold  air  from  outside  which  en- 
ters the  furnace  during  every  alternate  half -hour  or  so  when 
the  draft  is  reversed  by  the  first  or  second  helpers  hi  charge 
— that  alternate  direction  of  the  draft  through  alternate  sets 
of  the  "checkers"  enables  the  "regenerating  furnace"  to 
keep  getting  hotter  and  hotter  till  the  "charge"  of  metals 
is  melted,  the  carbon  brought  to  the  right  proportion,  and 


20         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

the  steel  is  made.  Another  dozen  or  more  of  us  were  tossing 
these  bricks  from  man  to  man  till  they  were  piled  up  high 
against  the  wall  of  the  building — the  soot  having  dropped 
off  them  meanwhile.  At  the  same  time  an  Indian  (from 
Mexico)  high  up  on  practically  the  same  pile,  was  tossing 
them  down  via  an  equally  long  line  of  men  into  the  next 
checker-chamber  of  the  same  furnace.  When  I  diplomati- 
cally suggested  that  the  piling  up  seemed  unnecessary,  the 
answer  of  course  was,  "What  the  hell!"  Later  the  piling 
was  stopped,  and  a  great  long  line  of  about  ten  men  pitched 
brick  from  one  to  another  needlessly  for  a  distance  of  thirty 
feet  till  I  lost  my  temper  and  the  boss  finally  arranged  a 
line  of  about  ten  feet,  whereby  the  bricks  came  from  one 
chamber  and  went  back  into  the  other — with  a  saving  of 
about  eight  men's  tune. 

The  men,  of  course,  get  to  feeling  that  their  work  is  never 
done.  They  have  not  the  slightest  interest  in  what  it 
means  or  how  it  affects  the  operations  of  the  mill  around 
them  because,  I  will  say,  nobody  tries  very  hard  to  give  it 
to  them.  It  is  all  just  a  matter  of  doing  as  little  work  as 
the  boss  will  allow. 

Last  week  I  tried  to  get  the  good  notice  of  the  different 
overseers  by  sticking  close  to  my  knitting.  The  bunch,  of 
course,  discouraged  it — "What  the  hell!  Lotsa  time"- 
and  the  bosses  noticed  me  only  when,  after  a  long  turn  of 
work,  I  rested  a  moment.  Their  notice  was  the  usual 
"Hey,  dere!  What  da  hell!  Do  you  fink  dis  sleeping 
place?" 

Not  always  is  this  query  put  in  a  mean  way.  But  it 
simply  expresses  complete  lack  of  effort  to  secure  interest 
or  to  give  instruction.  The  only  thing  in  the  world  these 
"boys"  have  to  give,  or  are  asked  to  give,  is  their  physical 
strength.  They  are  hardly  to  be  blamed  if  they  try  to 
guard  their  only  capital  by  as  many  breathing-spells  and  as 
slow  motions  as  the  boss  will  stand  for. 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  21 

Here's  an  example  in  " physical  arithmetic": 
From  Monday  evening  to  Monday  evening,  on  night 
turn,  a  man  here  works  eighty-seven  out  of  the  week's  one 
hundred  and  sixty-eight  hours.  Of  the  remaining  eighty- 
one  he  sleeps,  at  seven  hours  a  day,  a  total  of  forty-nine; 
eats  not  over  ten;  walks  or  travels  hi  a  street-car,  say,  ten; 
dresses,  shaves,  tends  furnace,  undresses,  winds  alarm- 
clock  and  gets  occasional  drink,  say  eight.  What  does  he 
think  the  rest  of  the  time — during  all  those  remaining  four 
hours ! 

To  save  turning  over  to  the  end  of  the  book,  I'll  slip  any- 
body the  answer:  "What  the  hell !" 

Stackton, 
Thursday,  Feby  13. 

We  laborers  spend  most  of  our  tune  down-stairs  around 
the  checker-chambers  beneath  the  furnace  floor.  Lately 
I  summoned  my  courage  and  butted  into  what  I  supposed 
was  a  company  restaurant,  but  which  I  now  find  is  run  by 
a  group  of  open-hearth  men.  They  are  not  listless  like  the 
workers  down-stairs;  they're  very  husky  and  seem  trained 
down  to  the  bone.  But  even  the  cattle-boat  fo'c'sle  never 
furnished  such  profanity.  As  they  eat,  their  language  is  a 
goulash  of  blasphemy,  obscenity,  and  filth.  Of  course,  it's 
mostly  in  fun  and  for  show.  But  even  at  that  I  would 
not  have  believed  it  possible  of  "bums" — and  these  are 
mostly  Americans  earning  around  ten  to  fifteen  dollars  a 
day. 

Of  course,  every  man  working  down  in  the  hot  and 
sooty  checker-chambers  with  a  boss's  eye  everlastingly  on 
him,  dreams  to  become  a  helper  on  the  "floor"  up-stairs, 
where  a  man  is  a  part  of  a  crowd  which  gets  paid  according 
to  the  tonnage  of  good  metal  it  gets  out  of  the  furnace — 
and  paid  well.  But  if  he  can't  be  up  there  on  the  floor  with 
him,  the  checker-brick  tosser  can  at  least  begin  to  talk  and 
think  and  swear  like  him — so,  what  the  hell ! 


22          WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

Any  attempt  to  abate  this  line  of  talk  should  be  based 
on  the  proper  understanding  of  it.  I  am  sure  it  has  two 
causes.  First,  it  is  a  sort  of  psychological  "protective  be- 
havior." It  is  the  mind's  way  of  saying:  "The  only  way  I 
can  accommodate  myself  to  this  fatigue  is  by  not  caring — 
by  not  taking  it  seriously."  By  the  same  token  it  is  a  way 
of  pouring  pep  into  yourself  by  putting,  as  it  were,  a  whip 
into  your  language — by  steam-heating  your  talk.  It  makes 
your  words,  in  a  short-sighted  sort  of  way,  more  galvanic 
on  yourself,  and  presumably  on  others,  and  so  makes  a 
short  cut  to  the  maximum  effect  of  your  breath  on  yourself 
and  others  which  ordinarily  can  be  secured,  or  at  least  aimed 
at,  by  the  appeal  of  logic  or  good-will — these  last  being  im- 
possible because  of  fatigue. 

Then,  second:  Some  one  having  started  the  ball  rolling 
because  he  was  tired  and  needed  either  the  protection  or 
the  stimulus  of  super-heated  language,  standards  are  created 
for  a  sort  of  God-and-man-insulting  upstandingness  which 
requires  everybody  else  to  measure  up  by  going  him  one 
better.  The  trouble  is  that,  like  the  dope  fiend,  who  gets 
no  "kick"  at  all  from  what  was  once  a  huge  dose,  these 
"helper"  chaps  now  have  a  hard  tune  finding  any  emphatic 
way  to  express  themselves.  What  can  a  man  do  when  the 
most  ordinary  and  inoffensive  chair  or  tea-cup  or  sandwich 
is  condemned  to  the  uttermost,  and  when  you  call  your 
best  friend  flippantly  a  triple  or  quadruple  compound  of 
the  foulest  and  loathsomest  possible  conceptions — what  can 
a  fellow  do  when  he  really  wants  to  use  strong  language  ? 

As  it  looks  now,  the  whole  thing  seems  a  combination  of 
hard-working,  husky  humans  trying  to  lessen  the  friction 
of  circumstance  by  throwing  out  a  sort  of  oil  film  of  "I 
don't  care,"  and  then  trying  to  hold  their  own  in  association 
with  each  other  in  meeting  the  husky  demands  of  their 
husky  jobs. 

It  will  be  interesting  to  see  if  this  appears  true  after  my 
observations  are  better  seasoned  with  the  later  months. 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  23 

If  what  is  here  set  down  doesn't  make  good  sense,  it's 
because  of  the  disease  described — overwork. 

And  now  that  I've  begun  too  late  to  get  proper  relief 
from  profanity,  I'll  try  the  only  other  available  remedy, 
sleep. 

Stackton, 

Saturday  eve,  February  15. 

If  I  recall  rightly,  I  set  down  a  complaint  some  time  ago 
about  the  finishing  of  a  seventeen-hour  turn  of  work,  after 
twelve-hour  nights.  I  apologize,  in  the  light  of  what  is 
soon  to  get  under  way,  so  soon  that  I  must  shortly  jump 
into  bed  and  try  to  be  a  sort  of  slumber  camel,  and  store 
up  sleep  for  the  long  desert  trip  ahead. 

I  am  instructed  to  report  to-morrow  morning  at  seven, 
ready  to  be  on  the  job  until  seven  Monday  morning ! 

And  everything  requires  my  following  instructions. 

I  have  been  promoted,  thanks  to  my  friend,  Bill,  the 
only  English-speaking  boss  on  the  gang.  During  the  last 
few  days  he  has  been  sending  me,  as  almost  the  only  white 
American  in  the  gang,  about  the  plant  on  various  errands, 
with  his  kindly  "Keep  your  eyes  open  and  learn  the  plant." 
Twice  I  went  on  the  little  dinky  engine  and  helped  get  coal 
from  the  chutes  over  in  the  yard,  hitherto  unknown.  There 
for  the  first  time  I  saw  the  gang  which  handles  the  new 
brick  and  consists  of  about  thirty  women,  mostly  foreign, 
fat,  and  of  course  smudgy,  hi  their  bloomer  overalls,  sweat- 
ers, and  "boudoir  caps" ! 

Twice  he  named  me  to  go  with  small  gangs  that  loaded 
great  chains  onto  a  hand-car  and  pushed  them — or  in  one 
place  coasted  down-hill  with  them,  yelling  gleefully  like 
children,  all  of  us — away  over  to  the  blacksmith's  shop. 
Yesterday  the  same  gang  moved  other  things,  including  a 
great  quantity  of  nickel  used  for  giving  a  certain  consistency 
to  the  armor-plate  for  battleships. 

These  trips  gave  a  chance  to  see  the  hugeness  of  the 
plant  and  to  duck  hi  and  see  some  of  the  monster  rolling- 


24         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

mills  where  ingots  of  five  to  fifteen  tons,  lemon  hot,  are 
swung  up  out  of  the  "soaking-pits"  where  they  are  re- 
heated after  being  brought  from  the  open-hearth  pits,  and 
are  carried  through  the  air  like  mere  checker-brick,  to  come 
out  of  the  rolls  as  finished  angle-iron,  "I"  beams,  or  "chan- 
nels" for  great  construction  enterprises.  They  also  helped 
me  see  various  jobs — as  one  day  when  I  worked  hi  the 
"  stock-yard." 

This  is  where  the  iron  "charging-boxes"  are  loaded  with 
the  various  things  which  go  into  the  furnaces  for  "  com- 
posing" the  steel.  It  is  interesting  and  also,  I'd  say,  fairly 
dangerous.  Hook  in  hand,  you  stand  on  top  of  the  "boxes" 
as  the  huge  magnet  comes  soaring  along  with  a  ton  or  two 
of  iron  and  steel  beams,  or  plates,  or  a  dozen  sheaves  of 
iron  scrap  clinging  to  it  from  the  unseen  force  of  magnetism 
caused  by  the  electric  current.  Some  of  the  plates  seem  to 
be  hanging  only  by  the  skin  of  their  magnetic  teeth,  as  it 
were — by  "the  hair  of  their  magnetized  heads"  might  be 
better,  because  all  the  scale  and  other  particles  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  metal  are  standing  upright  exactly  like  the  hair 
of  a  man's  head  when  he  passes  near  a  flying  belt,  or  any 
other  electric  "field."  But  everything  hangs  there  until 
you  help,  by  your  long  hook,  to  swing  it  around  so  every- 
thing can  fall  into  the  boxes,  and  you  yell  or  motion, 
"Drop!"  Then  the  current  stops  and  everything  clatters 
down  with  the  hollow  noise  which  is  the  distinctive  sound  of 
the  town.  Then  you  jump  down  into  the  boxes  and  hook  and 
push  and  lift  the  various  pieces  until  they  are  even  enough 
to  be  pushed  into  the  furnace-doors,  and  emptied  like  so 
many  dust-pans  by  the  charging-machine — meanwhile  duck- 
ing or  jumping  to  keep  from  being  under  the  next  load  that 
sails  by  overhead  to  your  "buddy,"  or  to  avoid  being  run 
over  by  the  dinky  train  on  its  way  to  some  hungry  furnace 
inside. 

I  was  sorry  to  learn  that  the  following  day  Mike,  our 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  25 

very  strenuous  and  dare-devil  Irish  crane-man,  had  his 
face  burned,  though  not  badly,  by  the  monster  current  he 
makes  perform  for  him.  It  is  thrilling  to  see  the  doings  of 
an  unseen  force  on  such  familiar  terms.  It  makes  you 
shiver,  somehow,  to  see  a  great  plate  of  steel,  weighing  sev- 
eral hundred  pounds,  rise  up  and  fly  a  foot  or  so  upward 
in  order  to  obey  the  beckoning  of  the  unseen  Force ! 

The  Slavic  boy,  however,  seemed  little  thrilled  by  his 
job. 

"I  wor'rk,  wor'rk  always  every  day,  every  week,  ten 
hours  days  and  twelve  hours  nights — alia  tune — no  'spell' 
(rest)  lak'  you  have  in  labor  gang — and  alia  time  every  damn 
furnace  hongry." 

This  knowledge  of  the  plant's  doings  and  geography 
helped,  doubtless,  to  Bill's  taking  me  to  the  head  millwright 
of  our  department  this  morning.  That  gentleman  gave  me 
an  interesting  and  quick-moving  day.  I  was  very  proud 
to  pass  my  brick-tossing  friends  who  looked  with  envious 
eyes  on  my  oil-can  or  wrench.  These  are,  it  seems,  nothing 
less  than  badges  of  nobility  in  the  steel-mill  peerage.  Like 
a  hawk  I  studied  the  every  move  of  my  superiors  as  they 
took  me  around  and  told  me  how  to  grease  the  various 
plungers  that  raise  the  furnace-doors,  and  to  oil  the  pumps 
or  the  mixer,  which  lowers  its  great  hulk  and  pours  out  of 
its  head,  precisely  like  a  grand-opera  dragon,  the  yellow 
pig-iron  for  those  insatiable  furnaces. 

In  fact,  I'm  getting  on  quite  familiar  terms  with  the 
whole  open-hearth  establishment — and  more  and  more 
anxious  not  to  disappoint  my  kindly  " buddies."  American, 
Greek,  Spanish,  Mexican,  Italian,  Irish — black  and  white— 
we  talk  over  our  hearts'  desires  and  the  good  and  bad  points 
of  our  respective  jobs  hi  a  polygot  but  expert  language,  and 
come  surprisingly  close  to  each  other.  My  foreign  lan- 
guages help  a  lot.  Not  that  I  can  carry  on  a  deep  conver- 
sation with  my  Italian,  Greek,  or  Spanish  friends.  But 


26          WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

being  able  even  to  start  and  go  some  distance  in  their 
tongue,  and  to  talk  about  their  country — "a  ship  I  worked 
on  made  them  ports,  ya  see" — seems  to  prove  to  them  my 
good-will,  and  to  help  immensely  toward  getting  theirs. 

It's  going  to  be  hard  to  leave  the  place  and  these  new 
pals  when  the  tune  is  up.  But  meanwhile  I  must  play  the 
game  as  if  my  physical,  and  especially  my  financial,  life 
depended  on  it  if  I  am  to  get  the  "feel"  as  the  other  boys 
have  it — and  to  them  a  millwright's  job  at  two  cents  an 
hour  more,  with  less  strain  on  back  and  arm  and  leg,  less 
dirt,  and  with  tools  to  carry  around  in  the  sight  of  all  men, 
is  something  to  dream  about  during  the  long  hours  of  throw- 
ing, tossing,  and  shovelling  brick. 

So  the  biggest  thing  before  me  just  now  hi  all  the  world 
is  to  come  out  under  the  wire  day  after  to-morrow  morning 
with  my  head  still  up  and  ready,  after  a  few  hours'  sleep 
Monday,  to  report  again  Monday  night — and  so  make  sure 
of  my  millwright's  job. 

And  that  means  set  the  alarm-clock  for  six,  as  usual,  and 
jump  into  bed  this  minute. 

Stackton, 
Feby.  17. 

Too  busy  to  get  much  time  for  my  diary;  but  here  are  a 
few  things  which  go  on  in  the  work: 

Apparently,  a  labor  gang  in  a  steel-plant  does  surprisingly 
little  conversing.  But  the  occasional  discussions  cover  a 
broad  field.  One  night,  for  instance,  one  of  the  Mexicans 
and  a  West  Indian  negro  argued  whether  there  is  a  heaven 
or  hell. 

"You  say  hell  after  die?"  The  Mexican  sounded  both 
his  "H"  and  also  a  guttural  "K"  in  his  "hell."  "I  say 
now — and  no  more  after  die.  We  work  over  dere  on  dat 
furnace.  We  burn  shoes.  We  sweat.  Dat  hell — hell  now. 
When  we  die,  no  more  sweat — no  more  work — no  more 
not'ing — all  dead,  no  feel  not'ing,  just  dead." 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  27 

To  the  rest  of  us  taking  our  "  spell"  after  a  half -hour  of 
wielding  sledge  or  crowbar  on  the  bricks  of  a  furnace-roof, 
which  had  fallen  in  on  the  "bath"  of  hot  metal,  while 
standing  on  boards  which  frequently  caught  fire  from  the 
heat  of  the  bath  which  still  lay  beneath  us,  it  sounded 
reasonable.  The  negro,  however,  was  too  well  grounded 
in  his  faith  to  be  floated  away  by  the  Mexican's  conviction, 
even  aided  by  his  own  perspiration,  and  stood  pat  in  good 
style.  The  Mexican  made  it  evident  that  he  had  not  got 
his  advanced  thinking  out  of  books  when,  a  moment  later, 
he  expressed  his  belief  that  by  virtue  of  their  "forty,  fifty, 
mebbe  sixty,  year  of  alia  time  study  boo-k,"  doctors  could 
restore  the  dead  to  life  at  will,  and  only  let  people  die,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  people  insist  on  having  children,  so  that 
that  is  the  only  way  to  keep  the  country  from  becoming 
too  congested. 

But  mostly  the  gang  talks  of  jobs — how  many  hours, 
how  much  pay,  any  chance  to  "catch  sleep,"  hot  or  cold, 
hard  or  easy,  dirty  or  clean,  good  boss  or  bad,  etc.,  etc., 
without  end.  Every  one  has  had  personal  experience  with 
a  surprising  number,  to  be  sure,  so  that  they  can  weigh 
good  points  against  bad  with  the  expert's  eye. 

Now  that  the  permanent  owner  of  the  millwright  vacancy 
has  returned — it  was  a  bad  burn  that  laid  him  off,  I  learn 
—I  am  reduced  to  the  ranks  again.  But  I  can  be  thankful 
for  the  glimpse  the  week  gave  of  another  line  of  working 
and  thinking  around  an  open-hearth. 

The  job  was  to  keep  the  furnaces,  pumps,  and  other  mon- 
sters of  the  show  in  good  humor  by  seeing  that  they  get  all 
the  gas,  steam,  water,  and  grease  they  needed.  A  certain 
pleasurable  sense  of  power  and  familiarity  comes  from  tak- 
ing a  great  oil-can  and  perhaps  a  bucket  of  grease,  and 
going  down  among  the  wheels  and  cylinders  that  turn  the 
colossal  mixer.  Likewise  from  clambering  in  under  the 
powerful  charging  machines  to  tighten  their  bolts  with 


28         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

wrench  and  sledge  so  that  they  can  properly  feed  the  huge 
dust-pans  of  scrap-iron,  billets,  etc.,  into  the  furnaces. 

The  real  work  came  with  the  care  of  the  "guns,"  which 
shot  hot  tar  by  steam  pressure  into  the  furnaces.  When 
my  chief  first  adjusted  these,  I  could  do  little  more  than 
hand  up  tools,  or  go  " catch"  water  to  pour  on  the  occa- 
sional flames  of  the  scaffold  where  he  stood  to  work! — so 
near  was  he  to  the  hot  furnace  end  wall.  Later  I  got  to 
changing,  myself,  these  guns  or  burners  when  clogged  by 
the  fierce  heat.  A  hot  job,  for  sure !  Through  the  hole  in 
the  bricks  the  heat  would  burn  gloves  or  face  or  hand  almost 
in  an  instant.  When  used  to  stop  the  heat,  a  board  would 
blaze  hi  a  few  seconds.  Otherwise  clothes  began  to  steam 
and  smoke.  But  it  was  all  worth  learning.  I'm  only  sorry 
to  have  become  familiar  with  a  pipe-wrench  so  late  in  life 
— in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  burning  glove  made  me  drop 
it  on  my  toe,  so  it's  as  sore  as  its  mate  on  my  other  foot, 
which  suffers  from  a  checker-brick  that  broke  and  fell  on 
it  ten  days  ago,  and  sent  me  limping  off  to  the  doctor's. 

As  in  the  labor  gang  the  outstanding  feature  of  mill- 
wrighting  is  the  long  hours: 

Sunday  double  turn  (every  other  week) 24  hours 

5  nights  at  13  hours 65     " 

Saturday  night 15     " 

104  hours 

Night-turn  week  you  do  nothing  but  work  and  eat  and 
sleep — and  not  too  much  of  the  last  two,  either.  You  have 
a  half-hour  each  night  for  your  dinner — meaning,  by  the 
way,  three  more,  or  107,  hours  under  the  plant  roof.  And 
you  are  pretty  tired  for  a  heavy  breakfast.  Unless  you  cut 
down  your  sleep,  you  have  a  short  time  for  supper  at  four- 
forty-five  or  five  before  going  to  work  again.  By  saving 
part  of  my  "midnight  supper"  for  a  morning  snack,  I  cut 
out  breakfast,  got  into  a  bath-tub  at  seven- ten,  and  then 


29 

into  bed  at  seven-thirty  for  sleep  until  three-thirty  or  four, 
with  only  a  few  minutes  for  letters  or  papers  before  putting 
on  working  clothes  again.  I'm  told  that  ordinarily  mill- 
wrights get  more  sleep  "on  turn"  than  our  tar-guns  gave 
us — though  we  did  get  some. 

With  nothing  but  sleep  in  between  the  various  nights, 
one  turn  seemed  only  the  continuation  of  another,  and  the 
whole  week  felt  like  one  continuous  performance. 

In  talking  with  the  open-hearth  floorworkers  I  found 
they  felt  the  same  way  about  their  fourteen-hour  night- 
turn. 

"This  week  just  don't  count — a  man  ain't  no  good  to 
nobody,  including  himself,  and  how  the  nights  of  the  day- 
turn  week  do  go  by  before  you  get  around  to  enjoyin' 
'em,"  said  one  first  helper. 

"It's  bearable,"  said  another,  "when  you  can  really 
catch  your  sleep.  But  when  the  flu  was  here,  'twas  awful ! 
Nearly  all  of  us  had  to  wait  on  our  sick  families — if  we  didn't 
have  it  ourselves — and  for  weeks  we  just  went  without 
sleep,  seemed  like,  unless  we  could  catch  some  around  here 
on  turn;  and  that  was  hard  because,  of  course,  every  shift 
was  short-handed." 

I  know  now  that  such  a  worker  simply  doesn't  have  time 
to  study  or  to  grow  or  to  learn  English,  or  to  keep  a  live 
eye  on  anything.  I  am  constantly  surer  that  one  result  of 
it  all  is  that  "  what-the-hell "  attitude — a  man  has  got  to 
take  on  the  self-protection  of  the  callousness  which  pro- 
fanity represents  or  else  get  out  of  the  long-hour  end  of  the 
business. 

Another  result  of  eight  working-days  one  week  and  six 
the  next,  year  in  and  year  out,  is,  I'm  sure,  the  local  and 
highly  familiar  celebrity  known  as  the  "whiskey-beer." 
After  every  shift  the  saloon  at  the  corner  has  its  customers 
lined  up  three  deep  and  fully  one-half  take  a  "large  small" 
glass  of  whiskey  followed  by  a  big  beer.  They  down  it 


30         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

quickly  and  walk  away  straight  for  home  without  the  slight- 
est joviality.  But  all  say  one  or  two  of  these  "shots"  helps 
them  get  a  good  day's  sleep. 

Frequent  discussion  is  given  to  which  saloon  serves  the 
best  and  biggest  whiskey.  Otto,  who  has  millwrighted 
here  for  nearly  thirty  years,  has  worked  his  fourteen-turn 
fortnights  with  only  two  days  off  in  two  years.  That's 
every  day  except  two — Sundays  and  holidays  not  excepted. 
He — with  others — says  you've  "got  to  be  blamed  careful 
about  getting  lay-offs  or  they'll  tell  you  there's  others  at 
the  gate  that  wants  your  job  more'n  you  do."  He  seems 
to  believe  one  whiskey-beer  pretty  regular  stuff  for  him, 
and  that,  if  particularly  tired  three  can  be  carried  without 
discomfort  or  loss  of  decorum.  Four  requires  hurrying 
home  and  to  bed  to  avoid  trouble. 

"Five  or  six  whiskey-beers,  yes,  all  right.  Fifteen? — too 
much,"  a  Slavic  laborer  argued  yesterday  quite  seriously. 

The  heaters  and  other  regular  steel-workers  tell  of  want- 
ing everything  to  have  a  "kick"  in  it: 

"Why,  I  remember  last  summer  I  had  to  do  something 
for  a  good  time,  and  damn  me  if  I  didn't  go  off  for  a  trip 
to  Cleveland  and  spend  $100  in  three  days!" 

I  know  how  they  feel.  If  you're  tired  and  are  going  to 
meet  the  financial  loss  of  laying  off  for  a  day  or  two,  you 
don't  want  just  ordinary  amusements.  You  want  some- 
thing with  a  punch;  you  want  something  to  jar  you  and 
give  you  a  real  sensation.  An  ordinary  show  or  movie  is 
too  tame.  I'll  gamble  that  the  eight-hour  shift  will  bring 
an  improvement  in  the  local  burlesque  show ! 

Stackton, 
February  26. 

Four  weeks  is  a  short  time  for  any  serious  diagnosis,  but 
I'll  wager  my  two  arms — and  throw  in  two  bruised  toes — 
that  there  is  a  big  and  vital  connection  between  all  three 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  31 

of  the  outstanding  institutions  of  this  town — to  wit,  the 
alarm-clock  and  long  hours,  the  whiskey-beer,  and  the 
God-damn.  Garbage  would  make  a  fourth — in  the  quarters 
where  most  of  the  workers — the  foreign-born — live. 

I  came  here  with  the  feeling  that  good  treatment  by 
company  and  foremen  is  what  the  workers  want  above  all. 
The  company  evidently  believes  that  what  they  want  most 
is  lots  of  work  to  get  lots  of  money.  We're  both  right  and 
both  wrong.  Men  won't  appreciate  anything  under  heaven 
— not  even  good  pay  and  steady  work — when  they  are  dead- 
dog  tired,  or  suffering  from  that  chronic  listlessness  which 
is  not  exactly  fatigue  but  comes  from  the  two-days-off-in- 
two-years  habit.  And  no  boss  can  be  asked  to  treat  his 
men  decently  if  the  hours  make  both  them  and  him  stale 
and  crabby,  and  if  almost  everything  around  them  all  (with 
the  exception  of  clean  toilets  and  cold  drinking  water)  is 
dirty  and  disorderly.  So  it's  futile  to  argue  which  is  more 
important — pay,  hours,  treatment,  or  shop  conditions. 
They're  all  indispensable — like  all  four  cylinders.  If  each 
helps  the  other,  the  load  is  carried  easily;  everybody's 
happy,  and  no  knocks  develop.  But  no  one  or  two  cylin- 
ders can  do  it  alone  against  the  drag  of  the  others. 

Even  the  huge  mixer — it  always  makes  me  think  of  some 
vast  machine  from  Mars — has  to  have  gas  to  burn  in  it — 
that's  its  food  and  drink,  its  money.  Also  bricks  and  metal 
and  water  of  the  right  sort — they  determine  its  conditions. 
And,  finally,  lots  and  lots  of  grease — that's  good  treatment. 
It  has  to  have  them  all. 

The  rumor  keeps  up  that  the  "floor"  will  go  to  the  eight- 
hour  shift  next  month.  But  there  are  many  sceptics  be- 
sides Terence  at  the  boarding-house. 

"Aw,  sure  an'  I've  heard  tell  o'  thot  for  the  last  few 
years.  I'll  belave  it  when  I  see  the  signed  notice  and  not 
a  day  before !" 

When  it  does  come  it  will,  of  course,  bring  the  need  of 


32          WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

finding  thousands  more  men — and  that  won't  be  easy  as 
soon  as  times  get  good  again.  Those  thousands  more  men, 
too,  will  make  necessary  a  lot  more  houses  than  this  town 
has — and  they'll  pretty  surely  be  expensive  to  build  and 
high  to  rent.  And,  still  further,  the  shorter  hours,  even 
with  some  kind  of  a  compromise  on  wages,  will  make  steel 
cost  the  public  more  and  so  raise  the  H.  C.  L.,  unkss  the 
workers  do  more  per  hour.  But,  personally,  I  am  sure 
they  will  do  just  that  if  the  change  is  accompanied  by 
bosses  who  depend  more  on  leadership,  head-work,  and  skill 
for  getting  their  results  from  their  men  than  on  proddings 
and  strong,  superheated  language.  These  are  necessary 
on  tired,  long-hour  men;  something  else  can  be  counted  on 
to  obtain  proper  results  with  active,  short-houred  workers. 
If  this  is  given  hi  a  way  to  get  the  co-operation  of  the  work- 
ers, the  price  of  steel  need  not  be  greatly  increased,  and  a 
lot  of  workers  and  their  families  will  be  made  happier  than 
they  now  are.  I  know  it  should  be  done.  I'm  sure  anything 
with  so  much  human  "should"  behind  it  can  be  done. 

It's  possible  these  long  hours  have  "got"  me  more  than 
they  have  the  others.  But  I  honestly  don't  believe  it — 
I'm  greener  than  they,  but  not  so  listless  to  begin  with. 
It's  more  likely  because  I  have  been  doing  more  work  than 
they;  almost  every  day  with  the  unskilled  men  gives  more 
skill  in  learning  from  them  how  not  to  work.  I  find,  for  in- 
stance, that  we  two  new  men  shovelled  just  twice  as  much  on 
that  "cinder"  in  the  down-take  as  a  more  experienced  man 
and  I  did  a  few  nights  later.  He  insisted  that  each  of  us 
take  turns  at  sleeping  while  the  other  worked — especially 
while  our  boss  slept.  With  their  whiskey  and  listlessness 
they  feel  the  work,  I'm  sure,  as  much  as  I  do,  if  not  more. 
And  they  were  more  tired  than  I  when  I  began. 


33 

Stackton, 
February  28. 

My  fellow-workers  seem  to  have  trouble  believing  I'm 
an  American  because,  they  say,  "No  white  American  work 
in  steel-plant  labor  gang  unless  he'  nuts  or  booze-fighter." 

One  Mexican  is  sure  I'm  French,  and  asks  me  in  Spanish: 
"For  why  do  you  deny  your  Patrida?" 

But  the  point  is  this:  none  of  them  hesitates  a  moment 
to  talk  freely  to  me  about  plant  or  other  matters — about 
how  he  feels  and  thinks  about  all  sorts  of  things.  That  dis- 
poses of  what  was  my  chief  fear  when  I  started  out. 

Among  the  upper  group  of  workers — the  foremen,  mill- 
wrights and  furnace-helpers — every  one  seems  to  dislike 
our  Slavic  labor  boss,  Pete.  He  is  said  to  have  no  friends 
and  to  care  for  none.  He  certainly  is  a  tyrant,  scolding  or 
firing  somebody  most  of  the  time. 

"Say  you,  there,  Andy,  you  go  to  work  to-day,  huh?" 
he  yelled  a  few  days  ago  to  a  harmless  young  Slavic  boy 
— as  usual  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  with  his  eyes  blazing. 

"What  the  h you  mean  come  here  with  necktie  on! 

Me  foreman  and  me  no  necktie.  You  take  dat  one  off 

-  quick,  or  I  give  you  'time'  and  you  go  home  and 
wear  it  so  long  you  -  -  please !" 

Mike,  one  of  the  Polish  bosses  under  him — and  he  hates 
him,  too — was  kicking  about  the  H.  C.  L. : 

' '  Wy ,  poor  working  man  no  can  get  drunk  now.  Whiskey- 
beer  twenty  cents!" 

When  I  suggested  that  almost  any  man  could  afford  a 
good  spree  on  four  or  five  he  came  back  with: 

"Four — five !  Wy,  I  bet  you  hundred  dollars  my  friend 
and  me  we  drink  fifteen  whiskey-beer,  go  home  twelve 
o'clock,  and  be  here  seven  o'clock  morning  go  to  work!" 

"Well,  Ah  don't  know  how  Ah'm  goin'  to  do  with  only 
eight  hours  as  long  as  groceries  stay  up — unless  Ah  gets 


34         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

more  per  hour,"  says  George,  the  colored  laborer,  when  the 
crowd  talked  of  the  rumored  short  day. 

Mac,  one  of  the  most  successful  first  helpers — his  pay- 
checks for  every  fifteen  days,  based  mainly  on  tonnage, 
run  around  $175  to  $225 — opines: 

"  "Fine!  Of  course  the  shorter  day  will  probably  cost  me 
money,  but  it  will  give  me  more  chance  to  enjoy  bein' 
alive.  And  it  will  give  more  men  work,  too." 

"Unless  they  get  the  eight-hour  shift,"  my  landlady  ad- 
vises me,  "don't  bring  your  wife  and  kids  here.  They 
ain't  no  easy  jobs  here.  Everybody  has  to  work  dreadful 
hard — even  the  women.  They  never  get  through  at  all 
keepin'  things  clean.  It's  a  dirty,  dirty  place." 

She  is  pale,  with  sunken  eyes.  She  has  four  children  to 
provide  for  in  her  widowhood,  and  from  four-thirty  A.  M. 
works  a  long  shift  cooking  meals  for  us  hungry  workers. 

My  month's  experience  certainly  confirms  her.  After 
the  millwright  helper  returned  I  tried  to  get  one  of  the 
furnace  jobs.  Yesterday  and  to-day  I  succeeded.  But 
arms  and  neck  and  shins  have  paid  the  price  of  the 
work  of  the  man  in  the  "cinder-pit."  Though  connected 
with  one  furnace,  I  am  expected  to  help  with  the  tapping 
of  every  one  of  the  active  six  furnaces,  the  seventh  being 
"down"  and  under  repair.  That  means,  usually,  helping 
work  the  "rabbles,"  or  huge  iron  pokers,  to  stir  the  bath  or 
open  the  tap-hole,  shovelling  hi  the  heavy  manganese,  and, 
after  the  "heat"  is  run  out  (which  means  the  steel  and  not 
the  heat,  for  that  stays  to  burn  your  face),  "making 
bottom"  by  shovelling  hi  the  dolomite  to  give  the  "cinder- 
lining"  or  unmeltable  hearth  and  walls  for  holding  the 
"bath"  of  molten  metal.  On  his  own  and  one  other  fur- 
nace the  "cinder-pitter"  or  "third  helper"  is  supposed 
to  "work  at  the  back."  That  means  to  help  open  up 
the  tap-hole,  shovelling  out  the  red-hot  dolomite;  then 
when  the  white-hot  steel  is  roaring  and  blazing  into 


POURING  THE   METAL  INTO   THE   MOULDS 

After  the  "  heat  "  of  "  hot  metal  "  is  "  tapped  "  out  of  the  open-hearth  furnace, 
the  ladle  is  carried  over  to  the  platform  (across  the  cinder-pit)  where  it  is 
poured  or  "  teemed  "  into  the  ingot  moulds 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  35 

the  huge  ladle,  placed  properly  in  its  stand  in  the  cinder- 
pit  with  its  lip  even  with  the  floor,  he  must  lift  large 
paper  sacks  of  coal  to  his  shoulder,  run  toward  the  ladle, 
and  with  all  his  strength  hurl  them  into  the  blazing, 
scorching  torrent.  Thereupon  the  flames,  fed  by  the  car- 
bon, leap  to  the  roof  and  the  heat  is  fearful.  Yesterday  I 
certainly  thought  my  face  was  gone  for  good  and  all  when 
I  tried  to  get  near  enough  to  get  my  sack — with  every 
ounce  of  my  strength  exerted — into  the  ladle — and  not  too 
near!  To-day  I  learned  how  to  keep  the  sack  before  my 
face,  watch  carefully  the  platform's  edge  at  my  feet,  and 
then,  the  moment  it  leaves  my  hands,  to  turn  and  run  for 
a  moment's  cover  behind  the  steel  stanchion  or  pillar.  After 
the  coal  is  in,  you  and  your  buddy  turn  up  your  coat-collars, 
put  your  heads  down,  run  out  near  the  ladle,  and  madly 
shovel  manganese  into  it — one  hot  job  if  ever  I  saw  one ! 
To-day,  when  I  left  a  sweater  on  the  steel  post  during  the 
tapping,  it  was  burned  by  sparks  and  ruined. 

In  all  of  these  jobs  there  comes  finally  a  skill  which  en- 
ables the  experienced  worker  to  do  with  sleight  what  the 
greenhorn  has  to  do  by  main  strength.  The  trouble  is 
that  no  arrangements  seem  to  be  made  for  giving  the  green- 
horn the  proper  instruction.  So  he  learns  only  after  the 
discomfort  and  more  or  less  disgrace  of  initial  failure. 
That  causes  him,  as  the  Chinese  say,  to  "lose  face,"  just  as 
I  thought  I  had  actually  lost  my  face  when  I  walked  out  to 
that  ladle.  Figuratively,  too,  I  did  "lose  face,"  because, 
be  it  confessed  sorrowfully,  that  first  sack  did  not  reach  the 
ladle.  That  failure  made  me  nervous  the  next  time — and 
the  railless  platform  and  the  blazing  ladle  full  of  splashing 
white  metal  makes  it  a  bad  place  to  be  nervous  in !  So, 
too,  hi  shovelling  dolomite  to  reach  the  back  wall  of  the 
biggest  furnaces.  To  do  it  requires  exactly  the  right  com- 
bination of  left  foot  far  forward,  arms  and  shovel  swung  far 
back  just  before  your  body  stops  advancing,  immediate 


36         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

full  swing  forward  and  upward,  and  then  a  quick  get-away 
from  the  heat.  To  see  a  trained  man  do  it  is  as  satisfying 
as  to  see  a  golf  expert  perform.  The  boys  whisper  direc- 
tions, but  the  first  helper  gets  a  man  fussed  by  his  curses. 
The  whole  gang  sweats  profusely,  but  the  greenhorn  suffers 
also  from  an  inner  sweat  of  the  spirit — and  his  muscles  pay 
the  price  in  the  extra  effort  until  the  trick  is  learned,  at 
least  to  the  point  of  quieting  the  boss  helper.  To-day  I 
nearly  broke  my  leg  by  driving  my  shovel  into  my  shin- 
bone  with  all  my  strength — caused  by  the  boss's  oaths. 

I  believe  instruction  could  be  given  even  to  the  labor 
gang — I'd  like  to  give  a  talk  on  the  art  of  shovelling.  It 
would  probably  eliminate  the  foreman  whose  only  word  is 
an  oath.  That  oath  confuses  the  beginner  and  hardens  the 
old  hand  by  robbing  him  of  his  interest  in  the  fine  points  of 
his  job  and  forcing  him,  for  his  own  self-respect,  to  take 
refuge  in  his  "Aw,  what  the  hell!" 

But  even  as  it  is  the  men  do  take  interest  in  their  job. 
Yesterday  two  helpers  had  a  knock-down  fight — over  a 
shovel!  After  six  men  had  succeeded  in  pulling  them 
apart — each  with  his  hands  full  of  the  other  fellow's  clothes 
—the  superintendent  got  nowhere  at  all  by  reminding  them 
that  the  shovel  actually  belonged  to  the  company.  Each 
insisted : 

"My  shovel!  I  use  it  free  mont's.  My  shovel—  He 
take  it." 

The  satisfaction  of  possession  surely  does  run  strong  in 
all  these  chaps.  The  charging-machine  man  fixes  whirli- 
gigs and  flags,  and  all  sorts  of  paraphernalia  on  his  machine. 
The  laborer  who  gets  hold  of  any  excuse  for  a  locker  fixes 
it  up  with  flags,  looking-glass,  and  pictures  from  calendars, 
cigarette-boxes,  and  such  like. 

With  the  management's  doings  generally  few  seem  to 
find  much  fault.  "They're  straight  enough — that  is,  they 
won't  rob  you.  Yes,  they  are  good  about  giving  steady 


IN  A  STEEL  PLANT  37 

work,  and  that's  a  big  thing.  Of  course,  they're  out  for 
the  big  money,  and  they'll  do  most  anything  for  that." 

Incidentally,  I  think  that  last  is  one  reason  for  a  lot  of 
soldiering — the  everywhere  visible  disorder  and  waste  of 
bricks,  lumber,  screws,  bolts,  etc.  "Dees  company  wanta 
only  beega  money."  "Why  should  they  worry  about  gettin' 
back  the  six-thirty  they  pay  me,  huh?"  is  the  answer  of 
the  men. 

Beyond  these  few  fundamentals,  the  workers  seem  to 
expect  nothing  from  the  company  whatever.  Nobody  here 
has  heard  of  representative  committees  of  workers,  and 
few  seem  to  think  it  interesting.  They  have  no  relief 
society.  To-day  they  were  selling  twenty-five-cent  chances 
on  a  raffle  for  a  five-dollar  gold  piece  for  the  benefit  of  a 
sick  worker ! 

Well,  it  all  makes  me  feel  that  last  Sunday's  labor-leader 
has  more  justification  than  he  should  be  allowed  to  have 
when  he  said: 

"The  Bolshevists,  I  tell  you,  men,  will  have  a  show  here 
in  this  country  only  if  industrial  managers  forget  that  we 
workers  feel  it  our  duty  to  think  more  highly  of  ourselves 
—take  ourselves  more  seriously — now  that  the  war  has 
been  won  to  make  the  world  safe  for  democracy." 

And  yet  very  little  evidence  of  anything  like  unrest  is  to 
be  seen.  Personally,  from  former  acquaintance,  I  know 
that  the  highest  company  officials  here  are  honest  gentlemen, 
sincerely  anxious  to  have  friendly  relations  with  their  men. 
I  am  equally  sure  they  do  not  realize  how  hard  it  is  for 
men  who  work  such  long  hours  to  have  friendly  relations 
with  any  thing  or  any  body — nor  how  much  organization 
there  must  be  before  the  good-will  of  the  officials  can  be 
transmitted  far  enough  down  along  the  line  to  touch  the 
mind  and  the  feelings — the  life — of  the  member  of  the 
labor  gang,  especially  if  that  member  possesses  the  sus- 
picions of  a  foreign  tongue.  For  certainly  these  distrusts 


38         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

of  misunderstanding  ought  easily  to  be  corrected.  They 
ought  not  to  be  charged  as  inherent  in  the  industrial  system. 
They  are  simply  the  defects  due  to  a  lack  of  proper  adjust- 
ment to  certain  requirements  of  human  beings — especially 
when  brought  together  in  large  numbers  from  all  over  the 
earth. 

Here  goes  for  a  few  more  fine  points  with  that  wonderful 
symbol  of  civilization  called  a  shovel.  Then  we'll  call  it 
enough  for  "Episode  I"  and  try  to  find  some  other  field 
for  our  labors. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  A  ROLLING-MILL 

AFTER  a  month  at  the  steel  plant  it  seemed  proper  to 
try  for  work  at  some  other  place.  The  rumor  among  the 
gang,  however,  was  to  the  effect  that  jobs  were  very  scarce. 
In  order  to  play  safe,  therefore,  I  allowed  the  company  to 
owe  me  the  pay  for  the  last  two  weeks,  and  so  secured  the 
promise  of  a  job  in  case  I  failed  to  get  the  one  I  hoped  for 
"back  home  in  Cleveland." 

After  a  few  days  there  of  passing  most  of  my  friends 
without  their  recognition,  I  took  the  train  back  to  the  same 
steel  centre  as  before. 

Millvale, 
March  12th. 

If  there  is  one  thing  I  have  learned  on  my  labor  travels 
it  is  that  "the  job's  the  thing."  Wages  are  interesting,  but 
the  job  is  the  axis  on  which  the  whole  world  turns  for  the 
working  man.  If  he  has  a  job — even  a  poor  one — he  is  at 
least  established  on  a  platform  where  he  can  stand  for  the 
present  and  plan  for  a  better  future.  Without  a  job  he  is 
dislocated  from  his  bread  and  butter,  and  also  from  his 
community  and  society  in  general.  It's  hard  for  him  even 
to  walk  along  the  street  with  the  same  confidence — he 
feels  as  I  imagine  a  bee  feels  that  has  been  fired  from  the 
hive.  If  he  has  no  job  at  a  time  like  this,  it's  like  a  blow 
in  the  face  to  read  in  the  morning  paper: 

"Pittsburgh  reports  a  surplus  of  12,000  laborers  and  1,000 
clerks,  with  a  shortage  of  1,700  miners.  Cleveland  reports 
surplus  of  60,000,  etc." 

He    reflects    on    the    unattractiveness    of    mining,    and 

39 


40         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

slouches  all  the  more  as  he  walks  along  the  street  and  thinks 
about  the  sad  possibility  of  saving  his  family  by  getting 
into  the  bread  line  a  little  later. 

Yesterday  the  common-labor  clerk  in  the  U.  S.  Employ- 
ment Office  told  me — in  tones  purposely  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  by  all  the  seventy-five  or  eighty  negroes  and 
others  in  the  room:  "Not  a  job  in  the  house  here" — and 
very  considerately  added  as  he  looked  me  over:  "Was  you 
hi  the  semi-skilled  department?" 

I  went  up,  but  got  a  discouraging  answer. 

"Not  a  request  for  a  millwright  in  the  place.  'Now  if 
you  was  a  tailor,  or  a  baker,  a  busheler,  egg-candler,  or  a 
die-maker — I've  requirements  for  200  like  them  here,  and 
those  cards  are  another  200  there — and  nobody  yet  to 
fill  'em." 

In  the  hallway  the  blackboard  called  for  "25  chippers" 
and  others  of  the  like,  but  specified  "Only  foreigners." 

At  several  private  agencies  it  was  "Not  a  single  job  to 
be  had — no,  nothin'  of  no  kind  at  all" — usually  in  a  foreign 
accent.  At  one  place  a  shipment  was  being  made  up  of 
workers  on  a  railway  labor  gang  at  forty  cents  an  hour, 
but  the  man  was  letting  it  appear  that  he  was  very  par- 
ticular. 

This  morning  I  took  the  train  up  here.  After  sizing  up 
what  is  a  very  well  located  and  laid  out  town  I  went  to  a 
near-by  garage — in  the  absence  of  the  saloon — to  get  any 
helpful  hints.  Again  the  power  of  the  name.  When  all 
the  clerks  of  the  employment  office  assured  me  there  was 

no  request  for  more  workers,  I  asked  to  see  Mr.  L ,  the 

superintendent  of  the  open-hearth,  as  per  the  garage  man. 
It  worked.  A  policeman  took  me  to  him  where  I  assured 
him  I  could  be  a  very  useful  man  to  him.  But  there  were 
"too  many  now,  and  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  lay  off  sorr.e 
now  that  the  soldier  boys  are  coming  back." 

On  my  repeated  cataloguing  of  my  virtues  as  an  "Ameri- 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  41 

can-born,  with  high-school  education,"  he  said,  "Well, 
maybe,  if  you  can  get  a  job  meanwhile  in  some  other  de- 
partment, for  a  lot  of  the  boys  tell  me — especially  the 
Greeks — that  they're  going  back  to  the  old  country  just 
as  soon  as  they  can." 

So  he  gave  me  the  name  of  the  hot-mill  superintendent. 
That  man  shook  his  head,  but,  on  my  pleading,  gave  my 
policeman  escort  the  name  of  the  cold-roll  boss — "Take 

him  to  Jack  J and  see  if  he  can  use  him  for  a  little  till 

L—  -  can  take  him." 

And  Jack — a  hard-working  but  honest  and  square-looking 
chap — after  several  turn-downs,  finally  gave  heed  and  said, 
"Well,  mebbe  to-morrow  morning." 

So  I'm  hoping  that  to-morrow's  sun  will  look  upon  me 
in  the  respectability  of  the  man  with  a  job. 

Millvale, 
March  13th. 

My  present  guide,  companion,  and  boss,  my  alarm-clock, 
called  me  at  five,  and  at  six  I  was  taken  on !  A  few  minutes 
after  the  doctor's  examination  my  new  boss  assigned  me 
to  a  quartet  of  men  to  run  nice-looking  bluish  steel  sheets 
of  various  lengths  and  thickness,  or  gauges,  through  the 
big  and  shining  steel  rolls  on  their  way  to  go  into  the  sides 
of  automobiles.  The  whole  group  seemed  to  be  Americans, 
and  Dan,  whose  buddy  I  became,  was  fine  hi  telling  what 
was  to  be  done  and  how. 

So  I've  been  picking  up  several  thousand  of  these  rec- 
tangular steel  or  "soft  iron"  sheets,  shaking  each  loose  so 
Dan  could  get  his  hands  on  it,  and  then  together  turning 
it  over  and  on  to  the  wooden  stand  or  skid  leading  to  the 
rolls,  watching  meanwhile  for  imperfections  that  mar  the 
smooth  and  sensitive  surface  of  the  huge  rolls  or  spoil  the 
sheet's  usefulness  in  an  auto  body.  It  gives  a  lot  of  exer- 
cise for  the  fingers  in  getting  the  thin  sheet  always  from  the 


42         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

top,  while  the  "simple  twist  of  the  wrist"  required  to  turn 
the  sheet  over  brings,  finally,  a  lot  of  weariness  and  some 
pain  to  a  few  muscles.  But  outside  of  that  the  work  is 
certainly  not  wearing  nor  unpleasant.  And  it's  stimulat- 
ing, too,  to  feel  that  besides  my  forty-two  cents  per  hour, 
I  share  hi  the  sum  paid  the  group  according  to  the  num- 
ber of  sheets  rolled. 

So  altogether  I  seem  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  work- 
ing community,  both  inside  the  plant  and  out,  so  far,  at 
least,  as  first  impressions  are  concerned.  The  town  has  a 
multitude  of  clean  and  pleasant-looking  homes  and  yards 
— except  the  district  where  many  foreign-born  workers  live, 
as  dirty  and  unprosperous  a  place  as  one  could  wish  to  see. 

The  Americans  seem  friendly  and  surprisingly  talkative, 
like  the  waitress  in  the  restaurant  who  reported  yesterday 
to  a  friend: 

"Well,  I  was  born  bawlin'  and  my  mouth  ain't  been  shut 
since !  If  you  don't  believe  it,  ask  my  mother." 

In  the  plant  the  cold  rolls  with  the  hot  mills  make  a  row 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long.  All  the  officials  seem  very 
much  on  the  job,  but  very  friendly.  Drinking-water,  sani- 
tation, and  restaurant  all  seem  very  good,  and  the  whole 
place  surprisingly  clean.  Also,  I've  so  far  heard  nobody 
swear  at  me  or  anybody  else. 

All  things  taken  together,  although  I've  done  a  good  turn 
of  work  since  six  o'clock,  I  feel  almost  as  much  a  man  of 
leisure  as  yesterday.  Then  I  walked  into  the  country  where 
I  finally  hailed  two  men  hi  charge  of  a  coal-mine.  They 
were  apparently  as  much  interested  hi  my  ignorance  of 
coal-mines  as  I  was  hi  their  knowledge,  so  they  promptly 
filled  their  little  lamps  with  carbide  and  water,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  were  answering  my  questions  as  we  squatted 
on  the  coal-covered  floor  of  a  "room"  with  a  low  slate  ceil- 
ing and  a  few  hundred  feet  or  so  of  solid  hill  above  us.  It 
made  a  highly  educational  afternoon  as  well  as  a  delightful 


IN   A   ROLLING-MILL  43 

loaf,  for  the  hills  at  sunset  were  beautiful,  and  the  ah*  full 
of  spring  and  pleasant  promises. 

To-day  I  felt  like  any  working  man  would  feel  if  his 
friends  could  be  informed,  an  hour  or  two  before  quitting- 
time,  that  he  was  "Gone  for  the  day."  Because  at  three- 
thirty  Dan  said :  ' '  That's  all  they  got  for  us  to-day,  boys.  So 
we  can  quit,  and  these  here  slips  of  mine  show  that  it's  been 
a  mighty  good  day  for  all  of  us." 

Millvale, 
Sunday  morning, 
March  16. 

Two  things  are  uppermost  in  my  mind,  after  my  two  days 
as  "roller's  helper"  on  the  cold  rolls. 

One  is  that  as  the  result  of  the  constant  turning  of  those 
sheets,  with  the  required  twist  o'  the  right  wrist,  I  find  my- 
self for  the  first  time  hi  my  life  wishing  I  had  a  valet  so  he 
could  negotiate  all  my  buttons.  They  seem  to  exercise 
those  same  muscles  and  so  exact  a  high  cost  in  pain.  But 
I  imagine  a  few  days  more  will  make  them  used  to  it — by 
which  time  I'll  hope  to  get  a  boost  in  the  direction  every- 
body covets — the  hot  mills,  the  home  of  heat — the  sheets 
are  rolled  there  out  of  the  small,  thick  "sheet  bar" — of  hard 
work  and  "big  money." 

The  other  thing  on  my  mind — a  sort  of  soreness  that  is 
amazingly  like  the  soreness  in  my  muscles — is  that  my 
roller  played  me  a  low  trick.  After  I  had  worked  myself 
something  more  than  half  sick,  broken  several  finger-nails, 
skinned  several  fingers  and,  of  course,  ruined  a  pair  of 
canvas  gloves  in  picking  the  sheets  off  the  pile  with  con- 
stantly greater  speed,  I  have  learned  to-day  from  better 
authority  that  he  and  his  catcher  get  then*  bonus  but  not 
we  helpers.  In  fact,  the  harder  we  work  and  the  sooner  we 
get  through  the  day's  run,  the  sooner  our  work  and  our 
pay  stop ! 

Besides  being  sore  at  my  immediate  superior,  I  am  won- 


44         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

dering  whether  I  should  believe  his  other  assurance — "If 
you  work  hard  here,  you're  sure  to  get  an  early  chance  at 
the  hot  mills." 

I  wonder ! 

It  will  probably  take  a  longer  stay  to  know  the  town's 
possibilities  for  killing  time.  One  of  the  movie  emporiums 
seems  to  have  good  pictures  and  good  music.  At  one  of  the 
two  others,  the  pictures  are  O.  K.,  but  the  music  is  excruci- 
ating. If  I  ever  get  the  chance  I  think  I'll  suggest  to  the 
management  that  they  endow  good  music  in  the  town's 
movies.  I  know  of  no  expenditure  that  would  count  so. 
much  here — unless  it  is  a  better  library. 

Pool-rooms  and  bowling-alleys  are  busy  but  apparently 
attract  mostly  young  boys.  In  the  Greek  quarter  the 
coffee-houses  are  evidently  well  patronized.  I  guess  the 
Greeks,  like  their  forebears  in  St.  Paul's  day,  are  addicted 
to  discussing  "some  new  thing."  The  skating-rink,  ac- 
cording to  my  talkative  waitress,  "looks  like  a  stable  and 
gets  pretty  rough." 

The  main  amusement  factors  seem  to  be  the  movies  and 
the  phonographs.  There  seems  to  be  hardly  a  home  with- 
out one  of  these  last,  and  from  appearances,  an  imposing  and 
costly  one.  At  almost  any  hour  and  in  every  street  you 
hear  them.  The  stores  that  sell  them  have  customers  in 
them,  apparently,  so  long  as  they  are  open.  And  they  cer- 
tainly do  give  a  lot  of  pleasure.  I'm  sure  they  are  especially 
appreciated  by  rolling-mill  men,  who  work  in  the  midst 
of  a  rumble-clank-rumble  that  makes  conversation  prac- 
tically impossible.  A  doctor  friend  in  Boston  claims  to 
have  made  experiments  which  justify  him  in  prognosticating 
what  kind  of  recreation  a  worker's  ears  will  hanker  for  if 
he  can  ascertain  the  noises  of  the  daily  job.  Our  ears,  he 
says,  crave  a  change  of  diet  just  as  do  our  palates  or  our 
stomachs.  I  found  myself,  by  the  way,  ordering  at  a  hotel 
last  week  a  dinner  of  peach  fritters,  ice-cream,  cocoanut  pie 


-      IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  45 

and  French  pastry !  Of  course  it  was  my  palate's  attempt 
to  "get  even"  after  four  weeks  of  my  Stackton  landlady's 
veal  stew  and  beans. 

Listen !  The  phonograph  down-stairs  is  reminding  us  of 
the  "Long,  long  trail,  a- winding.  "  That  means  that  the 
children  are  dressed,  breakfast  is  over,  and  the  day's  loaf 
begun. 

Considering  that  the  State  law  closes  all  the  movies, 
pool  and  billiard  places,  skating-rinks  and  library,  and  evi- 
dently the  news-stand,  I  guess  there's  nothing  for  a  non- 
club  member  to  do  but  betake  himself  to  church. 

Later  :  I  was  the  only  one  there  who  refused  to  stand  up 
and  vote  in  favor  of  a  resolution  affirming  that  the  Christian 
Sabbath  is  the  bulwark  of  our  civilization,  and  calling  down 
punishment  on  the  pagan  hands  now  being  raised  at  the 
capital  to  overturn  it  by  permitting  the  sacrilege  of  Sunday 
concerts  and  movies.  As  long  as  so  many  thousands  are 
working  eighteen  and  twenty-four-hour  shifts  on  Sunday  I 
can't  seem  to  get  "het  up"  over  Sunday  movies. 

Millvale, 

Wednesday  Night, 
March  19. 

It's  queer  how  little  conversation  I've  run  into  anywhere 
about  capital  and  labor,  Bolsheviki  and  such  things.  There 
was  certainly  more  of  it  at  the  boarding-house  in  Stack- 
ton  than  I've  yet  found  here.  But  even  there  it  was 
comparatively  slight  outside  of  the  general  and  complete 
conviction  that  the  same  crowd  that  did  everything  in  the 
mill  to  make  "big  money"  was  running  the  town,  the 
State,  and  the  country  from  the  same  single  motive. 
"Vote?  Why,  they'll  change  or  destroy  everybody's  vote 
here  if  they  feel  like  it!"  Only  one  speaker  was  extreme 
at  the  labor  meetings,  and  even  at  these  I  never  saw  more 
than  400  in  a  hall  seating  a  thousand. 


46         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

No,  I  think  Harden  had  it  right  when  he  said  the  other 
day:  "Give  the  people  food  and  work,  and  Bolshevism  will 
vanish."  At  a  boarding-house  the  men  talk  surprisingly 
little  about  anything,  whether  from  distrust  of  each  other 
or  fatigue.  A  man  eats  silently,  gets  up,  takes  his  dinner- 
pail,  and  walks  out  without  a  "So  long"  or  anything.  But, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  chaps  who  have  regular  jobs  talk 
not  about  capital  and  labor,  but  about  hours  and  wages, 
especially  eight  and  twelve  hour  shifts,  cost  of  living,  pro- 
hibition and  beer,  vacations,  lay-offs,  tools,  movies,  and  such- 
like matter-of-fact  affairs.  It  was  the  unlucky  men  there 
at  those  old  factory  gates  who  showed  their  teeth  when 
they  were  not  taken  on.  To  them  a  country  which  could 
show  no  way  for  converting  brawn  into  bread  seemed  to  be 
failing  sadly  and  seriously.  For  them,  I  know,  even  a  few 
days  of  such  failure  burns  deep  into  their  souls. 

But  on  the  job — well,  take  yesterday: 

At  five-thirty  in  the  morning  I  was  sitting  with  a  mill 
man  at  my  "coffee  and  cakes  and  two  fried."  We  were  en- 
joying the  comic,  where  the  man  comes  back  from  vacation, 
tells  his  secretary  his  desk  is  stacked  high  with  work  so  he 
must  not  be  disturbed — and,  being  just  returned  from  the 
strain  of  vacation,  goes  to  sleep  in  his  chair. 

"He's  got  it  right  at  that,"  says  my  mill  man — "but 
still,  I'd  like  to  have  one  oftener,  all  the  same. 

"Why,  when  you  ask  for  a  lay-off  here  you'd  think  they 
was  goin'  to  have  to  shet  the  mill  down  and  wait  for  ye  to 
come  back !  But  when  they  want  to  fire  you  it  don't  make 
no  trouble  with  the  mill  a-tall.  Last  winter  I  wanted  a 
week  off,  and  they  let  out  a  turable  holler  about  my  bein' 
off  a  good  deal.  'Yes,'  I  says  (and  he  fairly  yelled)  'I  was 
off  three  weeks  takin'  care  o'  the  sick,  and  now  I  want  a 
week  for  a  vacation  from  it.": 

"Only  the  salary  men  gets  'em  with  pay,"  he  concluded. 
The  tone  of  voice  and  his  other  comments  make  me  feel 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  47 

constantly  surer  that  one  of  the  best  possible  acknowledg- 
ments of  a  worker's  term  or  excellence  of  service  is  a  week 
or  two  of  vacation  with  pay.  In  any  event,  the  man  is 
only  a  vacationist  and  not  a  Bolshevist. 

"Yes,  them's  good  tongs,"  said  the  "rougher"  of  the 
hot-mill  crew  next  my  cold  rolls  a  few  hours  later.  He  is 
the  one  who  starts  the  hot  sheet  bar  into  the  big  rolls  to 
be  received  and  handed  back  to  him  over  the  rolls  by 
the  "catcher"  on  the  other  side.  "But  we  have  to  wear 
them  out  fast  when  we  work  on  so  many  different  sizes  of 
iron.  Why,  you  know"  (and  his  face  lighted)  "there  was 
a  time  when  this  place  had  the  best  tools,  and  give  'em  the 
best  attention  o'  any  mill  in  the  country.  It  was  a  plea- 
sure !  But  now — well,  the  same  feller  keeps  'em,  you  see, 
and  the  mill  has  growed  and  he's  overworked — he  can't  do 
it  all  and  he  don't  seem  to  be  given  no  help." 

(Such  talk,  the  fight  over  the  company  shovel  at  Stack- 
ton,  and  other  things  make  me  feel  sure  that  manager 
chaps  overlook  a  good  chance  in  this  matter  of  the  worker's 
delight  in  his  tools,  though  I  know  the  detail  of  it,  compli- 
cated by  the  worker  who  doesn't  care,  is  mighty  difficult.) 

Usually  such  conversations  continue  with  "Where  did 
you  work  'fore  you  come  here?  What  could  you  make  a 
day  there?  Did  you  like  it  better  than  here?" 

Or  else  the  talk  runs  about  bosses — except  that  hot-mill 
rollers  are  pretty  much  their  own  bosses,  apparently. 

"When  a  man  quits  here  he's  asked  why.  If  he  says  he 
don't  like  the  company,  they  may  fix  it  so  it's  hard  for  him 
to  get  a  job  here  in  the  district.  'Course  what  he  oughta 
say  is  he  don't  like  the  company's  bosses,  and  that's  the 
fact.  Some  of  the  guys  bossin'  right  in  this  plant  is  mean 
ones,  I'll  say" — this  from  the  breakfast  man  again. 

A  few  hours  later  I  found  myself  absorbed  in  a  difficulty 
with  a  roller  boss  which  lasted  busily  for  hours  and  made 
it  one  of  the  hardest  days  yet. 


48         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

I  was  helping  him  as  any  helper  should,  working  hard  to 
loosen  the  metal  sheets  and  put  them  onto  the  skid,  using 
the  patented  can-opener  blade  on  my  army  knife  to  gain 
speed,  and  breaking  it  in  the  cause.  For  long  runs  all 
would  go  well,  then  perhaps  my  hand  or  his  would  slip,  and 
once  or  twice  he  got  a  slight  cut.  Then  he  would  look  dag- 
gers at  me  or  say  something  I  couldn't  understand ;  for  this 
roller  was  a  handsome  Greek  to  whom  I  had  been  trans- 
ferred. I  couldn't  say  anything  except  "  Sorry,"  and  I 
wasn't  sure  he  could  understand  that.  But  it  made  me 
indignant  that  for  all  my  efforts  to  increase  his  earning  power 
with  my  speed — lessening  my  own  wages  by  getting  through 
earlier  and  so  stopping  my  pay — still  he  had  nothing  but 
a  curse-look  when  there  was  a  miscue.  So  for  hours  I 
fought  with  him — in  a  conversation  entirely  mental.  Hardly 
a  word  passed  between  us — the  noise  makes  it  practically 
impossible  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet  between  us.  But 
all  the  tune  I  kept  going  over  it  all  till  it  made  me  sore 
on  nearly  everything  imaginable.  Perhaps,  with  an  effort, 
I'd  finally  ease  off  into  some  other  line  of  more  pleasant 
thinking,  and  then  would  make  another  miscue  and  again 
get  a  nasty  look  and  exclamation  from  him,  when  off  I'd 
go  for  another  half-hour  or  hour  of  imaginary  quarrelling, 
usually  ending  with  my  quitting  and  walking  off  the  job — 
in  my  mind. 

Finally,  after  one  of  his  exclamations,  I  went  hi  open 
wrath  to  the  cold-roll  boss  and  complained.  He  quieted 
me  down  by  a  friendly  " Don't  mind  him — you're  all  right." 
And  the  Greek  too  began  to  smile  hi  my  direction  occa- 
sionally. So  finally  I  began  to  plan  a  get-together  party 
in  which  I  could  explain  my  dislike  of  his  tactics,  but  my 
willingness  to  work  if  treated  right.  It  was  hard  because 
of  the  language  trouble,  but  he  got  it  all  right. 

"Look  here,"  I  said,  "when  you  smile"  (and  I  showed 
him,  a  little  sourly,  I  fear)  '  —good — polu  kala — all  right, 


IN   A  ROLLING-MILL  49 

then  I  work  like  devil.  When  you  go  so"  (and  I  copied  him 
at  his  worst) — "then,  polu  kaka — very  bad — nothing  doing 
— not  with  me.  See?" 

"Yes,  I  knowa,"  he  smiled.  "You  see  when  sheets  very 
short  I  want  work  hard,  go  fast,  because  no  money  for  me. 
When  sheets  long — good  money — we  go  easy.  You  all 
right." 

So  we  worked  happily  ever  afterward — but  the  work-day, 
unfortunately,  was  nearly  over  by  that  time. 

If  he  could  have  given  a  few  words  of  instruction,  or  if 
the  language  trouble  could  have  permitted  better  under- 
standing, the  day's  strain  would  have  been  easily  twenty 
per  cent  less.  I  wonder  how  many  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  workers  must  constantly  be  in  the  very  fix  I  was  where 
they  are  foreigner  and  the  boss  is  American,  but  where  all 
that  passes  to  the  eye  is  the  curse  look  and  profanity,  while 
inwardly  the  worker  is  going  through  the  same  mental 
quarrelling  I  did  and  with  the  same  result — soreness  on  all 
his  friends,  on  America,  and  the  whole  world.  If  so,  it's  a 
certainty  he's  accomplishing  twenty  per  cent  less  for  the 
company  while  at  the  same  time  causing  twenty  per  cent 
more  wear  and  tear  on  his  own  muscles  and  "mentals" 
than  if  good  relations  were  in  operation. 

To-day  another  Greek  "catcher"  was  boss  over  me  on  the 
other  side  of  the  rolls.  Nothing  but  smiles — and  easier  work. 
The  easiest,  best  day  yet.  Have  joined  a  boarding-house 
circle  which  looks  interesting. 

Millvale, 

Sunday,  March  23. 

My  only  promotion  on  this  job  to  date  has  been  from 
one  side  of  the  rolls  to  the  other — from  helping  the  roller 
to  helping  the  catcher.  That's  not  very  much,  though  it 
is,  I  think,  a  bit  easier,  and  is  free  from  the  fumes  and 
smoke  of  the  gas-jet  which  is  turned  on  occasionally  to  con- 
trol the  contraction  and  expansion  of  the  bottom  roll  for 


50         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

getting  even  pressure  across  the  cold  sheet.  Especially 
when  the  hot  mills  are  closed  down  and  the  crane  is  able 
to  fetch  a  fresh  pile  of  sheets  to  roll  as  soon  as  one  is  finished, 
it  makes  your  "spell"  of  rest  in  between  jobs  very  short, 
and  so  sends  you  home  tired  enough  after  nine  hours. 

But  the  loaf  from  Saturday  morning  to  Monday  morning 
makes  it  all  perfectly  possible  and  very  close  to  enjoyable. 
In  fact,  I  think  it  would  be  positively  enjoyable  if  I  didn't 
have  to  carry  around  this  other  alias  and  personality  of 
mine  which  makes  me  keep  silent  many  times  when  I'd 
like  to  talk  freely. 

But,  of  course,  if  I  were  genuinely  one  of  the  workers  I'd 
be  doing  more  of  the  worrying  that  they  do.  This  is  mainly 
about  the  job — it  does  seem  almost  impossible  to  over- 
estimate the  all-importance  of  the  job  to  the  worker. 

"By  gad,  them  fellows  on  the  hot  mills  is  in  hard  luck," 
says  one  of  my  busy  cold-rollers.  "No  work  since  Wednes- 
day of  this  week,  and  now  we  come  out  Monday  and  they 
don't!  That's  tough!" 

"Aw,  but  think  of  the  money  thay  make  when  they're 
makin'  it!"  says  another.  "What's  worryin'  me  is  how 
long  are  we  goin'  to  have  work !" 

Steady  work  is  just  about  as  important,  it  seems,  as  good 
day  wages.  It  seems  to  be  felt,  also,  that  this  steadiness  of 
the  job  is  often  more  subject  to  the  management's  good-will 
than  good  wages. 

Listen  to  my  neighbor  at  a  long  and  crowded  bar  in  a 
neighboring  town.  He  happened  to  be  an  old  machinist 
I'd  seen  in  the  mill. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "I'm  near  seventy  years  old,  and  I've 
been  in  the  steel  line,  one  way  or  'nother,  forty- two  of  them 
— sheet  floors  mostly,  I  guess.  I've  made  big  money,  too, 
but  I  never  saved  nothin'  till  just  lately — now  that  my  chil- 
dren are  all  well  married  and  I  hain't  no  bad  habits  to  spend 
nothin'  on  'cept  my  board  and  room — and  that's  less'n 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  51 

ten  dollars  a  week.  Look  here !"  and  he  pulled  out  the  re- 
ceipts for  four  Liberty  Bonds.  "I've  got  enough  insurance 
money  to  pay  every  cent  o'  puttin'  me  away  in  good  style, 
and  mebbe  something  left  for  the  girls  and  boys  to  divide 
amongst  'em. 

"  Just  two  year  I  been  here  in  the  mill,  and  for  a  seventy- 
year-older  I'm  making  pretty  good  money.  The  fore- 
man ! — why — I  wish't  you  could  see  the  long  hours  he  gives 
me — an'  pay-and-a-half  for  everything  over  eight  hours! 
I  tell  you  he's  fine.  Sometimes  I  work  eighteen  hours  and 
take  home  money  for,  let's  see,  yes,  that's  right,  twenty- 
three  hours.  Yes,  sir,  you're  right,  that's  $9.86.  And 
it's  steady  work,  too. — And  when  one  job  gets  too  heavy 
for  me  he  puts  me  on  somethin'  easier." 

It's  mainly  that  Saturday  and  Sunday  rest  which  makes 
him  like  the  boss  for  giving  him  long  hours  and  therefore 
extra  long  pay,  because  he  doesn't  need  the  money  so  badly. 
After  a  week  of  soberly  and  sadly  watching  the  real  jobs 
slip  past  him,  Saturday's  dissipation  at  the  bar  helps  him 
to  think  himself  still  in  the  game  and  going  strong — 
stronger  with  every  glass  emptied. 

"No,  sir,  I'm  one  steel  man  that  ain't  never  chewed 
tobacco.  And  I  ain't  never  cared  for  these  here  '  wild  women' 
neither.  But  I  do  like  to  come  here  of  a  Saturday  after- 
noon and  take  a  little  beer  and  mebbe  a  bit  o'  liquor. 
4  How  much  ? '  Oh,  only  enough  to  make  me  feel  as  though 
I  had  my  old  position  back  like,  you  know." 

"Now  it's  my  turn,  young  fellow.  What'll  you  have? — 
anything  you  like;  I  never  tell  a  man  what  he's  to  take 
when  I'm  payin' — not  me." 

And  then  the  job  again: 

"Now,  you're  a  likely-lookin'  fellow.  You  take  my  ad- 
vice— allus  take  it  as  easy  as  ye  can,  but  allus  keep  your 
eye  out,  and  whenever  the  boss  comes  your  way,  work  like 
the  devil.  Show  him  you're  interested  and  he'll  put  you 


52         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

on  'ketchin"  the  first  thing  you  know.  That's  good  money. 
And  say,  don't  fergit,  you  show  interest  in  your  work 
when  the  boss  comes  up.  He's  a  good  fellow  and  he'll  see. 
And  don't  say  I  told  you  nothin'." 

And  that  was  his  final  word  again — the  summing  up  of 
his  forty-two  years  of  dealing  with  foremen ! — as  we  parted. 

On  the  job  and  off  it,  such  men  seem  to  have  a  lot  more 
sense  of  honor  than  most  people  looking  across  the  usual 
gulf  of  social  and  economic  difference  would  judge.  My 
old  friend  told  at  great  length  how  he  left  his  job  of  police- 
man in  a  city  because  he  would  not  electioneer  for  his  su- 
perior's candidate  against  an  old  personal  friend. 

Likewise  a  big  wholesome  and  husky  American,  shovelling 
coal  from  a  wagon  onto  a  car  on  the  station  siding: 

"Oh,  I  bring  down  four  or  five  of  these  loads  from  that 
mine  over  yonder — and  every  one  of  'em  weighs  about 
6,200,  too.  But  at  that,  it's  better'n  doin'  what  they 
wanted  me  to  do  in  there" — and  he  pointed  to  the  mill. 

When  he  called  it  "dirty  work"  I  thought  of  my  own 
clothes  at  Stockton,  and  didn't  blame  him  much  for  refus- 
ing, though  shovelling  coal  all  day  didn't  look  very  clean 
or  attractive,  either.  But  he  didn't  mean  that  kind  of  dirt. 

"No,  I  was  on  the  open-hearth  when  they  asked  me,  and 
I  told  'em  I'd  been  one  of  the  boys  all  my  life,  and  money 
wouldn't  make  me  go  back  on  'em. 

"A  little  later,"  he  went  on,  as  he  paused  and  straightened 
his  back  a  moment,  "I  asked  a  big  chap  who  came  onto  the 
floor  what  his  job  was,  and  when  he  said,  'Oh,  not  much  o' 
anything' — I  told  him  I  knew  what  he  was  doin',  and  he 
called  me  a  liar.  But  I  backed  up  my  proposition,  and 
after  we'd  fought  for  thirty-five  minutes  he  said  he  reckoned 
I  was  right.  'Course  then  he  had  to  git  out  or  the  boys 
'ud  a  mobbed  him  for  sellin'  'em  out  that  way —  No,  I 
reckon  I'm  better  off  here  in  the  air,  pretty  much  my  own 
boss,  than  spyin'  on  my  pals." 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  53 

Like  so  many  of  the  workers,  he  had  seen  many  different 
kinds  of  labor:  so  many  years  a  puddler — "hard,  husky 
work,  but  it  pays  you  good  when  it's  goin'" — so  many  years 
in  a  coal-mine;  "and  in  six  or  seven  hours  I  c'ud  get  out 
enough  coal  to  satisfy  me,  five  or  six  dollars  before  the  war, 
as  much  as  ten  or  twelve  dollars  now,  and  loaf  around  home 
the  rest  of  the  day,"  etc.  Some  regrets  he  had  that  he  had 
not  kept  at  this  or  that  work  longer,  or  taken  this  or  that 
chance,  but  on  the  whole  he  seemed  pretty  well  satisfied 
with  life. 

A  lot  of  workers  must  find  good,  steady  work  here  and 
stay  by  it  or  there  could  not  be  so  many  streets  of  simple 
but  well-kept  houses  and  yards.  Certainly  there  is  a  big 
help,  too,  in  the  closer  acquaintance  between  the  managers 
and  the  men  which  is  made  possible  by  the  smallness  of  the 
town. 

"Oh,  we're  not  worryin',"  said  a  roller  to-day.  "We'll 
soon  be  at  work  again.  The  boss  called  us  hi  the  other  day 
and  told  us  all  just  why  it  was  our  gang  had  to  be  off.  It's 
all  right." 

Not  everybody  is  as  enthusiastic  as  my  sixty-five-year 
friend Jover  the  company  bosses,  but  as  far  as  I  can  see 
there  is  general  agreement  that  the  company  pays  good 
wages,  gives  steady  work  on  a  very  decent  schedule  of  hours, 
and  keeps  just  about  the  cleanest  plant  in  the  whole  in- 
dustry. The  workers  seem  to  know  little  about  the  man- 
agers, and  the  higher-ups  seem  a  long  way  off  with  their 
headquarters  in  another  city.  But  at  that,  the  distance 
between  capital  and  labor  is  enormously  less  than  at  Stack- 
ton.  If  the  Bolshevists  ever  get  a  hearing  here  they'll  have 
to  use  a  lot  of  gas-bombs  first. 

With  my  Saturday-Sunday  "spell"  nearly  gone — and  it 
included  a  climb  up  one  of  the  big  hills  and  a  stretch  with 
a  book  on  the  grass  in  the  spring  sun — it  is  genuinely 
pleasant  to  think  of  a  hot  breakfast  with  Mrs.  B.  to-morrow 


54         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

at  five-thirty,  and  then,  with  her  appetizing  handiwork  in 
my  dinner-bucket,  "ring  in"  for  the  day's  work.  The  only 
trouble  is  that  with  the  crane  man  so  active  in  bringing  us 
fresh  iron  to  roll  it  is  hard  to  get  time  to  empty  that  bucket. 
We  have  no  lunch  hour.  Here's  what  the  good  soul  puts 
into  it: 

Four  bread-and-butter  sandwiches, 

Dish  of  meat, 

Glass  of  jelly, 

Glass  of  preserves, 

An  orange,  an  apple,  three  or  four  cookies, 

Two  pieces  of  pie, 

One  or  two  pieces  of  cake, 

And  pint  of  coffee. 

There's  a  big  chance  here  for  some  one  to  organize  a  trust 
of  boarding-house  keepers  so  they  can  stand  their  ground 
as  they  do  hi  the  average  college  town.  Barring  that,  I 
may  be  fat  if  my  landlady,  at  one  dollar  per  day,  continues 
to  give  me  such  a  bucket  every  day,  and  then  at  supper 
sets  a  groaning  table  and  stands  over  it  urging  and  re-urging 
her  good  food  on  her  boarders ! 

Same  Place, 
Thursday,  March  27. 

In  spite  of  the  nasty  snow  and  rain  here  I've  been  having 
a  most  luxurious  and  enjoyable  day — I've  been  my  own 
boss  in  charge  of  a  grand  and  glorious  lay-off. 

And  part  of  the  day  I've  been  trying  to  figure  out  just 
why  it  happened.  Perhaps  it  was  the  heat  and  mugginess 
of  the  weather — the  mill  was  certainly  hot  and  unusually 
smoky.  Probably  it  was  that,  together  with  the  Greek 
roller  boss's  desire  to  make  a  big  run  and  a  big  bonus, 
combined,  still  further  with  the  fact  that  for  long  periods 
the  heavy  sheets  had  to  be  lifted  off  the  runway  and  then 
up  high  onto  the  top  of  the  pile;  ordinarily  the  crane  takes 
the  pile  away  before  it  gets  so  high.  Then,  too,  it  happened 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  55 

several  times  that  just  as  the  catcher  and  I  were  gritting 
our  teeth  in  the  attempt  to  finish  the  high  pile  without  call- 
ing for  a  "  spell,"  the  roller  would  send  them  through  too 
fast  and  make  a  mess  on  the  floor,  or  else,  just  at  that 
moment,  Jo,  the  boss,  would  happen  by  and  proceed  to  tell 
us  to  lift  them  higher  and  toss  them  further  back  onto  the 
pile! 

Anyway,  by  noon  the  helper,  a  young  returned  soldier, 
and  I  were  "all  in" — also  very  cross  at  everything  and  every- 
body. As  a  result,  I'm  pretty  sure,  of  my  temper  as  much 
as  my  tiredness,  every  movement  during  the  afternoon 
went  hard — I  spent  it  mostly  quarrelling  mentally  to  my- 
self with  nobody  in  particular,  but  with  all  the  bosses  and 
management  in  general — particularly  for  their  paying  roller 
and  catcher  on  the  amount  of  work  done  while  we  helpers 
got  no  reward  whatever  for  our  extra  effort,  except  shorter 
tune  and  therefore  less  money,  by  reason  of  getting  that 
much  sooner  to  the  place  where  the  roller  and  catcher,  after 
figuring  their  earnings,  decided  they  had  done  enough  for 
the  day. 

Finally  I  thought  the  occasion  might  help  get  me  a  differ- 
ent job  with  less  work  or  more  money  or  more  interest. 
So  when  at  last  we  were  through  for  the  day  I  said  to  the 
biggest  boss  I  could  find:  "I  guess  I'd  better  have  either  a 
new  job  or  a  lay-off  to-morrow.  I've  got  a  'mad  on* 
against  that  Greek  and  everything  else." 

To  my  surprise  he  didn't  smile  as  usual,  but  showed  his 
teeth  and  told  me  I'd  better  go  look  for  somethin'  else  if  I 
thought  I  could  find  it.  He,  too,  seemed  sore  on  things, 
so  I  compromised  by  saying  I'd  feel  better,  mebbe,  if  he'd 
give  me  a  turn's  lay-off.  I  guess  many  foremen  would  have 
fired  me  on  the  spot.  In  any  case  I  think  he  was  feeling 
just  as  nasty  as  I  was;  he  had  had  a  very  hot,  busy  day, 
too;  so  we  both  had  the  makin's  of  trouble  and  a  bust-up. 

There  surely  is  a  mighty  connection  between  tiredness  and 


56          WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

temper  everywhere.  It  figures,  of  course,  most  of  all  where 
men  are  paid  for  doing  hard  physical  work.  I  almost  think 
I  could  catch  with  a  stop-watch  the  moment  when  the  work 
produces  such  a  soreness  of  muscle  that  it  induces  a  sore- 
ness of  mind,  which  then  proceeds  to  make  me  think  about 
this  or  that  unfairness  between  me  and  the  bosses  and  the 
company.  Just  as  they  say  bad  teeth  spread  infection  to 
the  body's  unhealthy  or  weak  spots,  so  the  physical  poison 
of  fatigue  seems  to  infect,  in  a  short  while,  the  feelings  and 
the  thinkings  if  there  is  in  them  any  little  raw  or  sore 
spot. 

A  sort  of  "reverse  English"  confirmation  of  this  came 
to-day  when  I  was  telling  of  my  temper  at  the  boarding- 
house.  The  landlord  was  a  hot-mill  man  for  a  number  of 
years. 

"The  next  time  you  get  that  way,"  he  advised,  "you  go 
out  and  see  how  far  you  can  jump  or  how  high.  And  a  few 
minutes  later  you'll  come  back  without  your  grouch." 

"That's  right,"  said  a  handsome  young  heater  on  the 
hot  mills.  "Often  when  our  crew  gets  sore  at  everything 
— the  iron's  bad  or  somethin' — we  try  to  see  who's  the  best 
at  jumpin'  over  one  of  them  safety  gates,  and  pretty  soon 
we've  forgotten  all  about  our  troubles." 

If  I  weren't  so  anxious  to  find  the  big  thing  which  I'm 
sure  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  combination  of  muscular  weari- 
ness and  mental  irritability,  I  would  not  be  willing  to  con- 
fess here  that  when  I  came  home  from  the  plant,  and  for 
several  hours  after,  the  question  was  wrhether  I  should  curse 
or  cry — and,  like  the  big  football  half-backs  I've  seen  ex- 
hausted after  a  losing  game,  I  ended  by  doing  a  shameful 
amount  of  both ! 

There's  surely  something  wrong  when  men  come  out  of 
a  day's  work  like  that,  and  there's  no  doubt  others  do  it 
besides  myself.  A  man  in  that  mood  isn't  anxious  to  do 
straight  thinking  about  capital  and  labor — he's  too  far 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  57 

gone  for  that;  but  he  does  want  to  feel  sore  at  all  bosses 
and  capitalists  and  managers,  and  such  like. 

The  more  I  see  of  the  foreman  the  more  I  feel  he's  a  very 
complex  proposition.  It  almost  looks  to  me  as  though  he 
can  never  be  expected  to  help  do  the  job  of  solving  the 
factory  manager-man  problem  unless  he's  given  an  entirely 
new  deal. 

There's  my  roller  boss,  the  Greek,  a  sort  of  unit  boss  in 
charge  of  our  quartet.  He  works  hard  to  get  his  tonnage 
money;  his  two  weeks'  pay  yesterday  was  $138.  If  he 
could  express  himself  well  and  didn't  have  to  depend  on 
dagger  looks  to  show  what  not  to  do,  he  wouldn't  be  bad. 
Evidently  they  can't  find  Americans  for  his  job.  But  then 
Jo  seldom  smiles  at  him  in  telling  him  about  the  roll  screws 
which  control  the  pressure,  and  very  often  yells  and  swears. 
So  the  Greek  rides  us  just  as  he  is  ridden  by  his  boss.  Jo, 
in  turn,  is  old  and  just  about  the  hardest-worked  person  I 
ever  saw — unless  it  is  his  boss,  the  department  superin- 
tendent, Jack,  who  keeps  sharp  after  Jo,  besides  having 
many  miles  to  walk  and  look  after,  up  and  down  the  length 
of  the  quarter-mile  building.  He  is  helped  by  Shorty  and 
another,  both  of  whom  run  a  great  deal  and  are  very  ner- 
vous and  worried-looking. 

As  I  see  them  all  inspect  our  sheets,  I  find  myself  saying : 
"Somebody's  riding  these  bosses.  Somebody's  riding  these 
bosses."  Still  the  men  who  are  over  these  are  apparently 
friendly — they  were  very  fine  to  me  when  I  asked  to  get  a 
chance  on  the  hot  mills.  Maybe  it's  heavy  responsibility 
with  small  salaries,  or  trouble  getting  thoughtful  workers — 
a  big  lot  of  sheets  came  back  rejected  last  week — but  some- 
thing is  riding  these  bosses,  I'm  sure,  and  has  been  for  years. 

That  being  the  case,  it  isn't  fair  to  expect  them  to  be 
sweet-tempered  and  full  of  careful  instruction  for  safety 
(day  before  yesterday,  on  the  morning  turn,  one  leg  and 
two  toes  were  broken,  and  four  fingers  cut  off  for  three 


58         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

men!)  on  rolling  or  anything  else.  And  still  everybody 
says,  "Go  to  your  foreman,"  when  you  want  an  advance 
or  a  change  of  job,  or  a  lay-off.  Just  because  he  has  your 
whole  well-being  in  his  hands — he  can  fire  or  freeze-out  or 
promote  you,  so  you  could  sure  enough  sing  to  him,  "I 
need  thee,  every  hour  I  need  thee" — you  don't  like  to  take 
a  chance  of  spoiling  your  stand-in  by  asking  him  about  this 
or  that  when  he's  busy  and  worried,  especially  considering 
the  fact  that  when  the  day's  been  hard  on  you  it's  probably 
been  the  same  on  him,  as  yesterday,  when  I  lost  my  care- 
fully cultivated  stand-in  with  my  friend. 

The  foreman  is  everything  to  the  worker,  all  right,  but 
it  doesn't  fix  matters  any  for  the  worker  if  the  manager 
says,  "  Speak  to  your  foreman  about  that,"  and  then  turns 
around  and  rides  him  down  too  hard. 

"Alia  time  ' hurry-up,  hurry-up,  hurry-up' — no  good!" 
said  my  Greek  "catcher"  the  other  day,  with  a  grimace  as 
we  walked  out  together,  both  very  tired.  He  has  to  "hurry- 
up,  hurry-up"  me  because  the  roller  hurry-ups  him,  because 
Jo  hurry-ups  him,  because  Shorty  hurry-ups  him,  because 
Jack  shakes  his  head  and  makes  a  wry  face  as  he  looks  at 
the  sheets  and  hurry-up-hurry-ups  him.  Who  or  what  does 
it  to  Shorty  and  Jack  I  don't  know,  but  it's  something  or 
somebody,  and  it  looks  to  me  as  though  all  of  us  from  Jack 
down  are  doing  the  best  we  can,  though  I'm  mighty  sure 
that  nobody  is  very  happy  about  it. 

Anyway  it's  certain  that  to-morrow's  sheets  will  go  better 
for  to-day's  rest,  unless  Jack's  still  sore  at  me.  "Aunty  3" 
at  the  boarding-house  was  shocked  at  my  taking  the  liberty 
of  a  lay-off  on  my  four  dollars  a  day.  Her  star  boarder 
said: 

"I've  only  had  two  days  off  in  a  year  except  Sunday— 
and  I  made  them  up  by  overtime." 

But  he's  a  boiler-fixer  and  practically  has  no  boss.  Maybe, 
by  the  way,  that's  the  reason  so  many  on  all  sides  speak 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  59 

enthusiastically  of  coal-mining — "You  go  down  and  get  your 
coal  and  when  you've  got  it  you're  through  and  nobody  to 
say  nothin'  to  you." 

To-morrow — Friday — it's  work  from  six  till  three  or  four, 
and  then  again  from  midnight  to  eight  or  nine  Saturday 
morning.  That's  because  Saturday  is  given  to  the  changing 
of  the  rolls  in  order  that  their  imperfections  can  be  taken 
out  in  the  big  lathes. 

I  wish  I  could  go  out  in  our  shop  back  home  and  see  if 
our  foremen  look  as  though  they  were  happy;  if  they  aren't 
it's  pretty  sure  nobody  else  is. 

Millvale, 
Wednesday,  April  2. 

Several  of  my  friends  at  the  mill  tell  me  of  their  pro- 
motion from  helper  to  catcher  or  roller  with  tonnage  pay 
after  only  a  few  days'  work.  I  am  sorry  to  report  that  after 
all  these  weeks  I  am  still  only  a  helper,  earning  about  four 
dollars.  In  order  to  get  more  experience  I  have  gone  to 
the  employment  department  and  then  on  their  direction 
to  various  department  foremen  asking  to  be  taken  on,  but 
am  told  by  all  that  they  are  either  unable  to  use  those  they 
have,  or  are  hiring  men  in  the  company's  plants  in  near-by 
towns  now  shut  down. 

"As  soon  as  it  gets  hot  a  lot  of  the  boys  will  go  back  to 
the  farm,  and  then  I'll  take  you  to  the  hot  mills — 'bout  a 
month  from  now,"  say  the  sheet-floor  bosses. 

Meanwhile  I've  met  many  workers  and  "helped"  with  a 
variety  of  catchers  and  rollers.  Once  in  the  same  turn  I 
was  so  changed  around  that  I  worked  at  different  rolls 
under  two  Greeks,  one  Italian,  and  one  Spaniard — all  pretty 
good  fellows  except  mine  enemy  the  Greek.  (Of  course  it 
should  be  mentioned  that  red-haired  Irish  Jo  is  over  them 
all !)  Just  now  I  am  regularly  under  another  Greek  roller, 
Matthew,  with  an  American  boy,  Arthur,  as  catcher,  and 
an  Italian  as  the  other  helper. 


60         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

In  learning  the  ways  of  all  these,  two  points  stand  out. 
One  is  how  quickly  a  man's  personality  is  shown  in  the  way 
he  gets  another  man  to  work  with  him.  My  Italian  roller, 
Tony,  was  able  by  his  smiles  at  the  right  moment  to  get 
my  wish  to  perform  up  to  the  hilt — with,  later,  somewhat 
of  a  disappointment  to  find  that  he  was  lazy  and  expected 
little  of  himself  or  his  helpers.  My  present  Greek  knows 
less  English  than  my  first  one,  but  he  is  jolly;  he  also  takes 
time  off  to  rest  occasionally,  so  that  our  qujartet  is  a  happy 
one  which  puts  almost  as  many  sheets  through  the  rolls 
with  enormously  less  wear  and  tear  on  muscles  and  "  men- 
tals" and  rolls. 

The  other  point  is  how  much  the  wear  and  tear  depend 
on  mental  conditions  and  attitudes.  For  instance,  my  first 
day  with  Tony  I  was  unhappy  to  feel  that  he  did  not  like 
my  way  of  loosening  the  sheets  for  him,  and  yet  he  could 
not  make  clear  his  wishes.  Finally,  the  catcher's  helper 
asked  to  trade  places  so  he  could  show  me.  In  a  few  minutes 
Tony  asked  me  to  come  back  and  showed  that  he  was 
well  pleased  with  my  way.  His  approval  changed  the  work 
at  once  from  laborious  to  easy.  Then  a  few  hours  later  it 
became  a  wearing  chore  again  to  go  and  help  my  original 
Greek,  who  never  smiled  approval,  looked  dirks  at  every 
pause  and  cursed  me  roundly  when  in  open  defiance  to  him 
I  finally  mutinied  and  loafed  for  one  "spell"  of  not  more 
than  fifteen  seconds — while  all  the  rest  of  the  crew  looked 
at  me !  When  the  mind  goes  over  and  over  the  sore  spots 
of  such  bad  handling,  reflecting  all  the  while  on  the  com- 
pany's cutting  off  the  helper  from  sharing  in  bonus,  even  a 
few  hours  of  effort  is  almost  as  ruinous  as  a  machine's  run- 
ning without  oil — unless  the  worker,  in  order  to  spare  him- 
self this  friction,  schools  himself  to  the  I-don't-give-a-hang 
state  of  mind.  And  that  is  the  state  of  mind  which  for 
many  workers  has  become  chronic,  and  which  offers  stony 
ground  for  the  seed  of  ambition  of  good  workmanship — or 
anything  else  than  Bolshevistic  new  deals. 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  61 

If  the  worker  doesn't  protect  himself  in  this  don't-care 
way,  and  so  works  with  an  unhappy  mind  for  long  hours, 
his  mind  becomes  stony  anyway  with  fatigue.  Last  week 
I  noticed  that  the  roll- turner's  helper  looked  "all  in."  He 
is  a  returned  soldier  and  was  badly  gassed.  He  assured  me 
that  there  will  be  a  Bolshevik  uprising  in  this  country ! 
"Why,  they's  10,000  soldiers  on  the  streets  of  New  York 
every  day,  and  no  jobs  for  'em.  'Taint  right!" 

This  week  he  told  me  of  the  long  turns  of  eighteen  and 
twenty  hours  he'd  had  to  work  last  week  because  somebody 
had  had  the  flu.  He  had  caught  up  his  sleep.  Bolshevism 
didn't  seem  to  interest  him.  To  him  the  country  seemed 
saved ! 

My  sixty-five-year-old  friend  and  also  "Uncle  Zeke"  of 
about  the  same  years,  have  both  been  complaining  of  their 
overtime,  though  some  of  my  younger  friends  on  a  near-by 
furnace  tell  me,  with  evident  pride,  of  their  "fifty-two  cents 
an  hour,  twelve  hours  work  and  pay  for  fourteen."  To  the 
eight-hour  hot-mill  men  these  long  hours  in  such  as  the 
open-hearth  appear  very  disgusting — as  they  are  also,  I'm 
told,  to  the  young  wives  with  which  the  town  is  said  to  be 
filled.  It  seems  that  the  young  husky  chaps  of  the  neigh- 
borhood can  very  early  earn  good  money  (six  dollars  to  ten 
dollars  per  day,  and  up)  on  either  the  hot  mills  or  the 
furnaces,  and  so  marry  very  young  girls — with  divorces 
frequently  resulting. 

Such  high  wages  for  hard  work  evidently  discourage 
"higher  education."  Arthur,  my  catcher,  is  eighteen,  and 
because  he's  on  tonnage  he  makes  eight  or  nine  dollars  a 
day. 

"Aw,  I  was  playin'  hookey  or  goin'  fishin',  or  somethin', 
ten  days  out  of  twenty,  so  my  family  said  I'd  better  quit 
with  first  year  high  school.  The  only  study  I  ever  enjoyed 
was  history—  An'  I'm  goin'  up  to  B—  -  to  see  my  queen 
next  month  if  I  can  make  it !" 

When  I  asked  whether  it  didn't  look  as  though  a  fellow 


62         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

got  on  better  if  he  took  all  the  schooling  he  could,  his  come- 
back put  me  away  down  and  out,  and  brought  the  talk  to 
a  quick  stop : 

"I  should  say  not!  And  you  prove  it.  Your  language 
shows  you've  had  more  education  than  /,  but  just  look  at 
your  job  and  look  at  mine  !  I'd  say  you  ain't  no  argument 
for  education!" 

All  his  bearing  speaks  of  satisfied  superiority  to  the  riff- 
raff earning  less  than  he.  Furthermore,  it  seems  that  his 
dignity  as  an  eight-dollar  man  rather  frowns  upon  his 
working  too  hard  and  making  too  much;  that  would  appar- 
ently show  him  greedy  and  tight-fisted — would  hurt  his 
reputation  as  a  good  fellow.  He  takes  pains  to  tell  us  how 
his  roller's  appetite  for  money  would  work  us  all  to  death 
if  he  himself  didn't  insist  on  moderation  in  earning  and 
working : 

"I  like  work  and  I'm  not  afraid  of  it,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to 
be  none  of  your  hogs  for  it !" 

With  him  and  many  of  the  other  rollers  my  strenuous 
Greek  is  very  unpopular — though  not  with  his  foreman  who 
is  interested  hi  production — for  pushing  himself  and  his  crew 
so  hard  for  his  $138  per  fortnight.  It  is  possible  that  this 
willingness  of  the  Greek  to  "hog"  work  hi  spite  of  unpop- 
ularity is  behind  the  opinion  of  a  group  of  Americans 
warming  themselves  around  the  salamander  this  morning: 

"Yessir,  the  company  is  always  lettin'  good  Americans 
go — men  who  have  been  here  fifteen  or  twenty  years — and 
holding  these  -  -  Greeks.  No  wonder  there's  hundreds 
of  'em  here." 

"Tired?"  said  Matthew,  my  Greek  roller,  to-day  as  we 
came  out  together.  (He  got  $131  last  pay.)  "Yes,  every 
day  tired.  But  next  month  I  go  to  old  country  for  stay 
mebbe  all  time." 

Arthur's  father  has  been  a  boss  roller  for  many  years,  and 
probably  earns  a  net  total  of  $3,500  or  $4,000  yearly.  There 


From  photographs  by  Lewis  W.  Hine 

SOME  TYPES  FROM  THE  COAL  AND  STEEL  TOWXS 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  63 

are  many  fathers  and  sons  here  at  work.  According  to 
that,  this  town  and  the  mill  with  its  above-average  condi- 
tions of  work,  may  not  be  in  line  with  the  situation  mentioned 
recently  by  an  authority: 

"It  has  been  noticed  that  the  personnel  in  the  steel-mills 
is  falling  off." 

That  remark  was  called  out,  I  think,  by  my  saying  that 
from  my  experience  with  foremen  at  Stackton,  a  young 
American  could  hardly  hope  to  start  at  the  bottom  and  work 
up  into  practical  steel-making  successfully  until  the  public 
made  it  possible  for  him  to  understand  and  make  a  hit 
with  his  bosses  by  teaching  Slavic  in  the  public  schools ! 

It's  nearly  nine — an  hour  past  bedtime  on  an  eight- 
hour  sleep  schedule.  It's  up  at  four  these  days,  in  the  plant 
and  at  work  at  five,  out  again  at  three  or,  possibly,  two — 
and  to-morrow,  being  Friday,  back  to  the  mill  again  at 
midnight. 

Well,  at  least  going  to  bed  is  a  little  simpler  than  at  home. 
After  helping  to  catch  and  pile  somewhere  around  thirty 
tons  of  steel  sheets  every  day — fifteen  or  twenty  pounds  at 
a  tune — it  doesn't  seem  necessary  to  devote  five  minutes 
to  bedroom  exercises ! 

Millvale, 
Thursday,  April  10. 

It  must  be  a  sign  of  a  good  plant  when  a  man  who  quits 
makes  even  a  mild  sensation.  It  seemed  as  though  I  was 
making  that  this  morning  when,  in  my  street  clothes,  I  saw 
my  friends  on  my  way  to  the  boss  for  the  "quit  slip"  re- 
quired for  getting  my  "time"  this  afternoon. 

I  felt  sorry  to  have  to  answer  the  surprised  queries  of 
my  policeman  and  other  friends  with  a  lie: 

"Well,  you  see,  if  I'm  goin'  to  get  on,  I  gotta  get  both 
coin  and  experience.  And  I  can't  see  neither  one  in  bein' 
four  weeks  on  a  helper's  job  at  four  dollars  per!  I  ain't 
kickin'  on  the  treatment,  y'  understand — you're  all  fine. 


64         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 


But  I  gotta  beat  it — first  over  to  X ,  and  if  there's 

nothing  there,  down  to  M or  B ." 

A  pair  of  journeymen  roll- turner  friends  at  the  boarding- 
house  advised: 

"If  you  go  to  any  mills  where  there's  a  sign  of  a  union 
don't  ever  mention  these  boys  if  you  want  a  job  a-tall. 
.  .  .  Well,  because  they  say  these  chaps  here  won't  join 


'em.' 


But  after  four  weeks  with  them  I'm  sure  it's  because  the 
"boys"  here  are  treated  too  well  to  care  to  bother  about 
fighting  for  more.  Certainly  they  are  all  enormously  hap- 
pier than  at  Stackton. 

One  reason  is  that  the  hot-mill  men — the  most  numerous 
and  most  capable  of  all  the  several  thousand  workers — 
work  only  eight  hours  and,  by  means  of  piece  rates  which 
include  all  the  crew,  earn  good  money  in  what  look  like 
jolly  and  contented  gangs.  The  cold-rollers  and  catchers 
make  good  money  with  seldom  more  than  ten  hours.  The 
annealers  and  open-hearthers  seem  to  work  twelve  hours. 
I'm  sorry  my  best  efforts  failed  to  get  me  a  job  there  to  see 
if  they  feel  as  much  and  give  as  little  as  at  Stackton.  At 
any  rate,  I  have  noticed  that  the  men  hi  charge  of  these 
departments  are  spoken  of  very  highly. 

Another  reason  for  their  fair  contentment  is  steady 
work. 

"No  like-a  at "  (one  of  the  town's  other  big  plants), 

says  one  Italian.  "Some-a  tune  work — too  mooch-a  tune 
no  work.  No  goo-d.  Here  alia  time  job." 

"Me  here  sixteen  year — in  dees  plant.  Good-a  place," 
says  another,  one  of  the  several  Italian  families  who  have 
been  here  a  long  time,  and  seem  to  have  some  very  good 
jobs.  One  of  them,  of  the  second  generation,  says  he  could 
sell,  on  the  side,  a  hundred  tickets  back  to  Italy,  but  is 
allotted  only  one  or  two  berths  on  each  boat. 

"Since  the  company  joined  a  merger,"   said  a  husky 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  65 

hot-mill  heater,  "they  ain't  so  good  as  they  used  to  be, 
but  they're  still  pretty  blamed  good  in  spreading  what  work 
they  is  around  so  that  everybody  gets  his  share  and  no 
hoggin'.  Just  now  our  furnace  is  laid  off  so  that  you  cold- 
rollers  can  get  out  more  stuff.  They's  already  so  many 
on  the  extra  list  that  it  means  a  lay-off  for  our  crew.  So  I 
went  to  work  with  a  carpenter  friend  this  morning  for  a 
while." 

Another  reason  is  the  attractive  condition  of  the  plant 
as  mentioned.  Sweepers  (forty-six  cents  per  hour  for  twelve 
hours)  are  always  in  sight.  They  are  almost  troublesome 
hi  the  way  they  insist  on  picking  up  sticks  you  had  counted 
on  using  as  props  for  your  piles  of  sheets.  Painters  are  fix- 
ing pipes,  furnace  fronts,  benches,  etc.,  "for  the  annual 
inspection  of  the  big  fellows  from  the  head  offices,"  as  my 
heater  friend  put  it.  Shrubbery  and  grass  are  hi  evidence 
in  every  possible  place. 

"  Wy,  when  we  has  visitors,"  said  "Uncle  Zeke,"  "course 
we  allus  brings  'em  down  to  see  the  plant,  and  they  all 
tell  us  they  never  seen  no  such  plant  as  this  nowhures. 
Makes  us  fellows  proud  to  be  here,  I  tell  ye." 

Certainly  the  close  relations  with  the  foremen  favored 
by  the  small  town  are  also  a  big  factor  for  general  content- 
ment. No  worker  seemed  to  know  the  present  group  of 
general  manager  and  other  higher-ups,  who  are  apparently 
changed  rather  over-rapidly.  But  everybody,  apparently, 
could,  either  as  a  fellow-worker  or  a  fellow-citizen,  soon  get 
on  to  friendly  terms  with  the  bosses — interfered  with  only 
by  the  overworked  condition  of  at  least  the  cold-roll 
bosses. 

"When  I  decided  it  was  up  to  me  to  cut  out  the  khaki 
and  get  busy,"  said  one  of  my  buddies,  "I  'phoned  Jack  at 
his  house.  As  soon  as  I  mentioned  'returned  soldier'  he 
told  me  to  come  down  in  the  morning.  My  father's  been 
a  roller  here  many  years." 


66         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

The  restaurant  is  clean,  well  served  and  managed,  though 
not  used  a  great  deal — "too  much  money  to  tie  up  in 
tickets,"  some  said. 

The  Relief  Association  gives  different  weekly  benefits 
for  different  payments,  with  a  big  death  benefit  following  a 
fifty-cent  monthly  assessment. 

Many  had  bought  company  stock  and  regularly  asked 
each  other,  "How  is  she  to-day?"  like  millionaires,  though 
the  amount  held  seemed,  usually,  extremely  small. 

Few  unions  probably  can  offer  conditions  much  better 
than  these.  The  disadvantages  I  observed  would  probably 
not  be  noticed  much  by  unions. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  discontent  general  among  us 
cold-roll  helpers  because  we  do  not  share  bonus.  The  idea 
that  our  rollers  and  catchers  will  supply  us  with  all  the  in- 
centive required  hardly  works  out.  It  simply  makes  us 
hope  that  they  will  somehow  stub  their  toes  or  cut  their 
fingers !  The  more  they  nick  the  rolls,  and  so  require  short 
lay-offs  while  the  polishers  restore  them,  the  better  we 
helpers  like  it.  (These  great  steel  rolls,  weighing  around  a 
ton  each,  are  of  so  sensitive  a  surface  that  the  old  roller  says 
a  hair  laid  on  a  sheet  as  it  goes  through  will  show  a  slight 
indentation  on  both  the  sheet  and  the  roll !) 

"You  helpers  are  supposed  to  work  your  heads  off,  and 
so  get  the  place  of  the  first  roller  or  catcher  who  drops  out," 
explained  one  foreman. 

"Do  you  want  to  know  how  to  get  your  roller's  or  catch- 
er's job?"  asked  an  old  retired  roller  at  the  boarding-house. 
"Why,  just  knock  his  block  off  and  send  him  to  the  hos- 
pital— then  they'll  give  you  his  job.  That's  the  only  way 
— unless  you  can  sweat  for  a  few  years." 

"It  just  ain't  fair,"  said  an  old  helper  working  next  to 
me.  uThe  other  day  my  roller  worked  me  so  that  he  abso- 
lutely cheated  me  out  of  at  least  one  hour's  work — at  time 
and  a  half,  that's  sixty-three  cents." 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  67 

The  plant's  other  weak  spot  seems  to  me  the  way  the 
management  refers  you  constantly  to  your  boss: 

"Ask  your  boss  about  transferring  you  to  another  job — 
or  correcting  your  time-card,"  etc.,  etc. 

The  trouble  with  that  is  that  he  is  just  the  last  man  in 
the  world  you  want  to  discuss  questionable  matters  with. 
If  you  get  his  ill-will,  you  might  as  well  go  jump  in  the  river 
as  expect  to  get  farther  hi  your  work.  Furthermore,  he  is 
so  busy  that  what  appears  to  you  a  perfectly  simple  state- 
ment may  chance  to  appear  the  exact  reverse  to  him.  In 
the  nature  of  the  case  he  is  pretty  sure  to  be  touchy,  es- 
pecially when  overworked.  You,  accordingly,  occupy  your 
mind  for  hours  deciding  whether  to  risk  your  prospects  for 
the  future  by  bothering  him  about  anything.  If  you  are 
wise  you  pretty  surely  decide  not  to  do  it;  whereupon  you 
continue  to  be  chafed  by  this  or  that  obvious  ill-adjustment 
up  to  the  moment  when  you  either  get  disgusted  and  quit, 
or  curse  yourself  into  the  "don't-give-a-hang"  state  of 
mind.  So  far  as  efficiency  for  the  company  is  concerned, 
one  is  about  as  bad  as  the  other. 

Most  of  the  foremen  have  been  for  long  years  regular 
workers.  They  apparently  believe  in  "mystery."  All  of 
us  agree  that  they  "wouldn't  none  of  'em  tell  a  fella  nothin' 
even  when  you  asked  'em."  Even  the  rollers  learned  only 
what  not  to  do  by  a  certain  number  of  call-downs.  The 
"why"  of  anything  they  did  not  know. 

"Whenever  one  of  'em  comes  to  me  I  say,  'Yes,  sir;  no, 
sir;  no,  sir;  yes,  sir/  as  if  they  know  everything  and  I 
didn't  know  nothin'.  They  like  that.  When  they  go 
away  I  do  as  I  would-a  done  anyway,"  said  one  catcher. 

His  boast  was  that  he  knew  how  to  circumvent  foremen 
—and  women — and  had  many  accounts  in  detail  of  his 
successes  with  both.  His  one  failure  with  the  former  was 
when  a  foreman  who  had  hired  a  man  asked  him  to  fire 
him.  He  refused,  and  was  himself  fired  on  the  spot. 


68         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

The  day  before  leaving  I  wandered  over  into  the  finish- 
ing department  to  see  what  they  did  to  our  sheets.  The 
young  inspector  took  delight  in  showing  how  little  defects 
played  hob.  I  feel  sure  it  would  have  greatly  increased  my 
value  if  I  could  have  been  shown  these  processes  before  I 
began  helping.  That  would  probably  have  had  the  opposi- 
tion of  the  bosses  whose  " mystery"  would  thus  be  lessened. 
But  such  instruction  would  certainly  save  some  of  the  money 
now  required  to  have  a  boss  on  hand  every  minute  to  prevent 
mistakes,  besides  increasing  the  dignity  and  attractiveness 
of  the  cold-roll  work  and  possibilities.  (When  a,  policeman 
found  me  hi  the  finishing  department  he  politely  but  firmly 
told  me  to  "Beat  it!  Against  the  rules.")  I  guess  I  was 
ignorant,  but  I  hadn't  known  until  then  that  a  bad  sheet 
meant  a  cracked  spot  of  paint  on  somebody's  auto's  doors 
or  sides. 

As  to  the  town:  The  schools  certainly  do  not  sell  their 
wares  well,  though  I  confess  they  have  stiff  competition 
when  an  untaught  eighteen-year-older  can  become  a  catcher 
at  eight  dollars.  The  town  morals  are  certainly  bad  unless 
most  of  the  men  I  meet  are  tall  liars.  This  is  partly  be- 
cause of  the  usual  small-town  lack  of  intellectual  interests. 
Another  reason  is  the  cloud  under  which  intellectual  inter- 
ests must  live  where  so  little  education  is  required  for  good 
wages.  Another  factor  is  the  large  number  of  very  young 
married  women  (also  one  result  of  the  above)  who  have 
little  or  nothing  to  interest  them  during  the  long  hours  of 
their  husbands'  work,  many  of  whom  must  come  home, 
I'm  sure,  too  tired  to  be  satisfactory  husbands  or  good 
fathers.  Another  factor,  I'm  inclined  to  think,  is  the  ab- 
sence of  the  opportunity  to  find  a  satisfactory  sense  of  man- 
liness and  personal  worth-whileness  through  the  solving  of 
the  real  problems  and  the  overcoming  of  man-sized  ob- 
stacles in  the  factory  work.  These  satisfactions  seem 


IN  A  ROLLING-MILL  63 

jealously  reserved  for  the  foremen.  But  more  of  that  at 
some  other  time. 

In  some  ways  I'm  sorry  to  have  got  "my  time"  and 
packed  my  grip  for  the  close  of  "  Episode  II."  The  work 
has  been  immensely  more  enjoyable  than  that  of  "Episode 
I."  Perhaps  I  would  have  found  similar  conditions  if  I  had 
gotten  a  job  on  the  open-hearth  again,  but  I  think  not. 
Even  the  foreign  workers  seem  mostly  to  have  been  here  a 
long  time,  and  to  have  adjusted  themselves  in  better  rela- 
tions all  around. 

After  about  nine  weeks  of  it  I  have  grown  a  little  more 
used  to  carrying  a  different  name  and  status.  The  lone- 
someness  of  this  is  something  hard  to  bear,  though  very 
difficult  to  describe.  My  story  of  unsuccessful  selling  and 
other  "head"  work  seems  to  find  no  doubters.  In  fact,  I 
am  so  easily  accepted  as  a  perfectly  proper  four-dollar  a 
day  man  that  it  greatly  hurts  my  pride.  Yesterday,  at 
last,  I  did  have  the  satisfaction  of  finding  one  man  who 
saw  through  my  disguise.  He  was  drunk ! 

I  was  waiting  in  the  shoe-shop  while  the  repairer  was 
giving  me  an  additional  pair  of  soles,  when  a  local  merchant 
walked  in,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his  occasional  two  weeks' 
sprees.  He  transfixed  me  with  his  eye: 

"Say,  stranger,  I  have  never  seen  you  before,  but  I'd  like 
to  tell  you  about  yourself.  Now  as  to  brains  you'd  stand, 
I'd  say,  so  and  so  here.  As  to  education,  so  and  so;  sales- 
manship, etc." — giving  me  what  I  hope  was  a  very  good 
character-reading. 

When  I  asked  him  where  he  "got  the  stuff,"  referring  to 
the  source  of  his  intuition  only,  he  stood  up  straight  and 
said  with  pride:  "For  five  years,  sir,  I  was  a  bartender." 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "there's  something  wrong  here. 
It's  perfectly  evident  to  me,  young  fellow,  that  either  you 
have  committed  some  serious  crime  and  are  at  this  moment 


70         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

a  fugitive  from  justice,  or  else  you  are  the  sad  victim  of 
some  deep,  disgraceful,  secret  sin — or  you'd  not  be  working 
in  this town  at  four  dollars  a  day ! 

"But" — after  a  pause — "in  spite  of  that  crime  or  that 
secret  sin  o'  yours,  whatever  it  is,  I'll  lend  you  whatever 
money  you  need  and,  furthermore,  I'll  offer  you  fifty  dollars 
a  week  and  commission  to  canvass  this  town  for  my  goods." 

I  felt  that  my  self-respect  had  at  last  been  vindicated, 
though  I  was  sorry  it  required  the  "in  vino  veritas"  genius 
of  the  grape  to  do  it. 


CHAPTER  IV 
"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED" 

THE  unskilled  jobs  in  the  district's  steel-mills  still  seemed 
closed  and  surrounded  with  applicants.  Getting  inside  with 
the  help  of  a  letter  of  introduction  would  have  been  easily 
possible,  but  would  probably  have  lessened  the  value  of 
the  contacts  with  the  men.  Such  a  letter,  however,  seemed 
practical  as  well  as  necessary  for  entering  the  strange  field 
of  the  coal-miner,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  give  light  on 
the  matter  of  the  foremen,  the  shorter  day,  living  condi- 
tions, etc.  Before  the  letter  could  operate,  however,  a  few 
days  had  to  be  given  to  loafing  and  listening. 

Steelville, 
April  22. 

The  rebuffs  expected  from  my  rough  clothes  when  I 
started  out  on  my  adventure  in  January  haven't  arrived 
yet.  Latterly  it  has  not  seemed  necessary  to  appear  quite 
so  rough,  but  people  still  seem  to  be  more  willing  to  tell  me 
about  themselves  than  I  used  to  find  them. 

Nicola,  an  Italian,  beckoned  me  over  to  his  seat  in  the 
smoker  to  tell  me  about  his  fourteen  years  of  coal-mining: 

"Yes,  coal-mine  fine  place  to  work — een  Ohio:  bad  in 
Eeleenois.  Too  much-a  gas  in  Eeleenois — and  too  much-a 
accident  there.  My  leg  he  crush  and  break—  No,  never 
no  monee  for  heem — I  do  no  read-a  da  English,  and  no 
sign-a  da  paper — get  no  monee.  Here  in  C—  -  seex  Italian 
families  we  work-a  da  mine — free  feet  seam — alia  time 
bend  but  alia  time  so  much-a  coal  so  much-a  monee.  Alia 
time  no  hot  no  cold.  But  I  t'ink  coal  man  feefty  year  he 
look  seexty — cheek  alia  time  white — too  littla  sun." 

71 


72         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

He  had  definite  ideas  about  personal  liberty,  as  set  forth 
after  his  pint  bottle  had  been  offered — and  perforce  of 
friendship  accepted.  As  we  came  into  a  smoky  town  he 
exclaimed : 

"Oh,  smokee!  Dees  good-a  town  for  poor  peopla.  No 
smoke? — no  work  for  poor  peopla  and  no  monee.  Too 
littla  smoke  in  Eetalee — no  good  for  poor  man.  But  I  get 
passaport  to-day  for  go  back  and  see  my  family  near  Udine." 

George,  a  husky  but  wholesome-looking  workman  also  on 
the  smoker: 

"Well,  I  was  eighteen  and  had  no  trade  in  a  little  Iowa 
town,  so  I  joined  the  navy.  Here's  my  certificate — 'First- 
class  electrician.'  See?  And  hi  those  four  years  I  saw 
almost  the  whole  world.  You  bet  it  takes  the  juice  to  run 
a  cruiser — a  big  generator  to  turn  every  turret  besides  all 
the  other  things.  Now  I  get  good  money,  eight-hour  day 
and  interesting  work.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  yes,  you  start  in  with  a  little  tattooing  on  your  hand 
or  wrist,  and  before  you  get  back  you're  pretty  well  covered. 
Course  it  hurts !  Yes,  you  can  prick  it  out  if  you  like.  I 
know  one  fellow,  every  time  he  smoked  a  cigar  or  cigarette 
he'd  touch  his  tattooing  with  it.  Course  even  then  he'll 
show  a  white  scar  of  the  same  design  where  he's  burnt  out 
the  Chinese  ink." 

Thomas,  colored,  on  one  of  the  bridges: 

"Well,  the  company  always  done  treated  me  all  right.  I 
been  there  fo'ah  yeahs.  Wi'ah  (wire)  workah  now  and  make 
ma'  ten  dollars  every  turn — just  now  we're  wo'kin'  only 
fo'ah  turn  a  week.  That  ain't  bad  when  so  many  men  out 
o'  wo'k  everywheah.  .  .  .  Shuah,  it's  dangerous  when 
them  wires  gets  loose  and  flyin'  around,  but  I  ain't  never 
been  hurt  yet.  S'  better'n  bein'  a  sailor — den  you  gotta 
spend  all  you  makes  when  you  gets  on  shore  after  a  long 
cruise — 'tain't  possible  to  hold  back  nohow.  Seems  lak  yo 
just  gotta  even  up,  somehow.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  had  a  wife,  but 


" STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    73 

she  got  away  from  me.  I  reckon  to  get  another  'foh  long 
— seein's  how  I  got  a  thousand-dollar  bond.  .  .  .  Shuah, 
you  can  get  on,  mebbe  as  labor — and  if  you  watch  sharp 
they'll  mebbe  give  you  a  chance  at  drawin'  wi'ah.  I'll  be 
right  glad  to  see  you — yes,  the Works.  So  long." 

Elizabeth,  in  the  information-booth  at  the  railway  station : 

"Polite?  Well,  I'll  tell  the  world  people  ain't  polite  to 
us  girls!  No,  we  never  get  any  thanks,  and  lotsa  time 
they  tell  us,  'Well  it  was  five-ten  and  not  five-fifteen  yes- 
terday, 'cause  I  looked  at  my  watch.'  And  all  the  fool 
things  they  expect  us  to  know  and  get  sore  if  we  don't! 
(Yes,  sir,  one  at  five-forty  and  another  at  five-fifty-five.) 
We  get  some  training  inside  answering  the  'phone.  (Blank- 
burg? — track  4,  madam.)  Oh,  I've  wanted  to  hang  up  on 
'em  many's  the  time." 

Pearl  interrupted  here  to  say  that  she's  taking  tonic  for 
her  frazzled  nerves,  but  all  she  got  for  her  pains  was  Eliza- 
beth's "Aw,  you  get  out !  Your  nerves  are  as  good  as  mine, 
and  I  can  keep  this  up  a  long  tune  yet.  (Next  train  to 
Beeville?  Seven-fourteen,  sir.)" 

So  it  goes.  They  all  seem  glad  to  find  any  one  interested 
in  their  work — just  as  if  they  were  editors  or  college  pro- 
fessors or  captains  of  industry  or  snake-charmers — for  all 
of  those  are  delighted,  I  know  from  experience,  to  talk  to 
anybody  about  their  jobs. 

Steelville,  April  27. 

To  my  surprise  the  British  prison-ship,  Success,  anchored 
in  the  river,  and  helping  to  recruit  for  the  marines,  gave 
some  side-lights  on  the  labor  and  general  social  situation. 
From  about  1802  to  1850  it  carried  criminals  from  England 
to  Australia.  With  its  wire-wrapped  cat-o'-nine-tails,  its 
salt-water  bathtub  where  the  prisoner  had  to  wash  his 
flayed  back  and  often  took  the  opportunity  to  drown  him- 
self, its  "black  hole,"  its  "tiger  cage"  for  crazy  ones,  and 


74         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

its  various  instruments  for  confining  chins  and  heads  and 
wrists  while  the  boat's  tossings  wrenched  flesh  and  bone, 
it  must  have  been  well  called  the  floating  hell.  The  first 
two  years  of  every  sentence  was  spent  below  the  water-line 
with  thirty-five  pound  leg-chains  in  "solitary,"  with  one 
hour's  exercise  dragging  an  enormous  iron  ball.  After  that, 
the  other  years — during  the  later  career  of  the  boat — were 
spent  by  the  prisoner  working  by  day  in  the  quarries  ashore 
and  sleeping  on  board. 

This  boat  carried  the  famous  Dorsetshire  farmers,  who 
are  credited  with  calling  the  first  English  strike  in  1834. 
(Moses,  it  is  understood,  was  the  leader  of  the  first  strike 
and  walk-out  in  history.)  These  men  were  a  half-dozen 
farm  laborers  at  seven  shillings  the  week.  They  asked  for 
eight.  For  their  pains  they  were  cut  to  six.  They  went 
before  a  judge  with  the  protest  that  they  could  not  live. 
He  spoke  thus: 

"Not  for  what  you  have  done,  but  for  what  may  come 
after  you  and  your  example,  and  that  those  in  authority 
may  be  obeyed,  I  sentence  each  of  you  to  be  transported 
for  seven  years  of  penal  servitude!" 

That  was  only  eighty-five  years  ago. 

No  wonder  our  present  law  restricts  the  judge  from  using 
his  own  judgment  as  to  the  kind  of  punishment  he  will 
choose. 

I'm  told  we  had  labor  troubles  here  a  great  deal  earlier. 

Another  case  was  Captain  Melville,  a  mischievous  lad 
who  took  a  tuppenny  tart  off  a  baker's  cart  and  was  sent 
off  on  the  Success  for  seven  years !  At  the  end  of  them  he 
was  an  embittered  and  confirmed  criminal.  He  committed 
scores  of  murders,  and  finally  killed  himself  in  his  cell  after 
twenty-nine  efforts  at  escape. 

There  may  be  something  of  a  hang-over  memory  of  this 
sort  of  thing  even  in  our  Anglo-Saxon  minds,  and  certainly 
an  enormously  nearer  memory  of  it  in  the  Russian  mind. 


" STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    75 

At  the  meeting  of  Socialist-Bolshevik!  Sunday  afternoon, 
the  chief  speaker,  Ruthenberg,  of  Cleveland,  argued  in 
regard  to  it: 

"How  mistaken  are  our  capitalistic  friends  if  they  think 
that  hard  prison  walls  will  soften  our  belief  in  a  better  chance 
for  everybody !  Every  month  I  was  in  jail  made  my  con- 
victions harder  and  my  whole  soul  bitterer.  Now  I  can 
hope  for  nothing  better  than  that  great  numbers  of  us  might 
be  imprisoned;  that  would  give  us  an  army  which  would 
want  nothing  better  than  to  fight  to  the  last  drop  for  our 
beliefs  in  another  system  of  society." 

His  audience  of  about  a  thousand  was  mainly  of  Russian 
"intellectuals" — young  fellows  with  pompadours  and  heavy- 
rimmed  glasses — crude-looking  young  Russian  Jews  and  a 
number  of  industrial  under  dogs  of  various  nationalities. 
The  sad-eyed  chap  next  to  me  was  a  bartender.  Although 
they  applauded  vociferously  all  the  appeals  for  protesting 
against  the  imprisonment  of  Debs  and  for  inaugurating 
immediately  the  Soviets  here,  still  there  seemed,  somehow, 
to  be  a  lack  of  seriousness  in  the  meeting.  For  instance, 
they  were  a  little  too  ready  to  laugh  at  the  interruptions  of 
a  drunken  Scotch-Irishman. 

While  Ruthenberg  made  a  pretty  good  speech,  still  every- 
body seemed  to  feel  that  a  lot  of  hard  work  had  to  be  done 
to  awaken  the  worker  to  his  opportunity.  Somehow  the 
machinery  of  the  meeting  and  of  the  whole  revolutionary 
programme  seemed  to  creak  and  squeak.  Said  the  organizer: 

"Now's  the  time,  comrades !  Thousands  of  men  are  out 
of  work.  We  must  get  them  interested  before  they  get 
busy  again.  Now  their  minds  are  open.  We  have  asked 
you  all  to  send  in  lists  of  prospects — especially  those  out 
of  work;  but,  comrades,  only  a  few  of  you  have  sent  in  those 
lists!  Please  do  so  at  once." 

And  Ruthenberg:  "After  I  got  out  of  jail  we  leaders  in 
Cleveland  discussed  what  could  we  do  to  make  now  the 


76         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

supreme  effort  to  attack  the  capitalistic  slavery  around  us. 
We  decided  to  ask  every  member  for  one  dollar.  And  I 
want  to  report  that  we  now  have  1,000  new  members  and 
$5,000  in  the  treasury!" 

A  pretty  small  mouse  for  the  mountain  of  Socialism  to 
labor  and  bring  forth  in  an  attempt  to  persuade  the  Ameri- 
can working  man  that  the  League  of  Nations  should  be 
overthrown  and  local  Soviets  put  hi  its  place ! 

Nothing  but  dollars  was  asked  for  in  the  collection,  but 
nickels  certainly  had  the  best  of  it  hi  the  tin  pan  which 
passed  me.  I  saw  four  people  buy  "a  dollar's  worth  of 
Trotzky's  and  other  literature  for  seventy-five  cents." 

Almost  with  tears  in  their  eyes  and  voices,  Jewish  "bark- 
ers" urged  one  and  all  to  "don't  forget  next  Sunday's  meet- 
ing— last  of  the  season.  Be  sure  to  bring  your  friends  and 
fill  the  house." 

At  the  employment  offices — State  and  private — lots  of 
jobs,  skilled  and  unskilled,  were  open — miners,  machinists, 
carpenters,  plumbers,  etc. 

"100  Railroad  Laborers  at  once.  New 
camp.  Good  cooking.  Only  men  with 
baggage  taken.  Shipment  Monday  noon" 

said  one  window.  The  "baggage  test"  for  respectability 
and  stability  is  often  got  around,  they  say,  by  men  who 
put  rocks  into  the  cheapest  of  suitcases. 

Only  the  steel  business  seems  slow.  But  in  steel  or  coal, 
somehow,  I'll  hope  to  find  a  place  shortly.  Meanwhile  a 
dirty,  dreary,  stag  hotel  at  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents — for- 
merly about  fifty  cents,  probably — makes  any  unoccupied 
moment  hang  heavy,  and  draws  one  onto  the  streets.  At 
all  times,  however,  these  play  on  every  note  in  the  scale  of 
American  present-day  life;  from  the  broken-down  man  of 
sixty,  wearing  often  the  suit  of  a  messenger-boy  and  the 
expression  of  a  one-tune  fighter  who  knows  he's  beaten 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    77 

(and  Foch  says  no  army's  beaten  until  it  knows  it),  down  to 
the  happy  and  swift  black  lad,  who  slides  through  the 
crowds  on  his  one  skate,  with  his  piccaninny  brother  sitting 
comfortably  on  the  skated  foot,  clasping  his  big  brother's 
leg  with  one  hand  and  holding  with  the  other  the  cookie 
to  his  mouth,  enjoying  his  ride  immensely. 
"I'll  tell  the  world"  it's  an  interesting  place. 

Steelville, 
April  28. 

In  between  times  my  meals  here  bring  a  chance  to  talk 
with  the  waitress  about  her  job — which  means  life  as  she 
sees  it  through  her  job — or,  perhaps,  vice  versa. 

Gertrude — that  is,  Gertie — is  tall  and  looks  very  strong, 
altogether  considerable  of  a  person  for  her  twenty-one 
years.  She  is  perfectly  willing  to  show  how  complex  her 
affairs  are: 

"Oh,  about  nine  hours  a  day.  And  say,  I'm  all  hi  every 
night.  And  lately,  the  minute  I  lie  down  I  cough  for  two 
or  three  hours  before  I  get  to  sleep.  .  . .  Oh,  I'll  let  it  go 
until  it  gets  worse — I  always  do. . . .  Why,  these  heels  ain't 
high  at  all.  You  see,  I've  got  an  awful  bad  corn,  and 
these  old  shoes  are  comfortable.  Gee,  they  nearly  let  my 
toes  out  on  the  floor.  .  .  .  She?  Oh,  she  says  she  don't 
mind  them  high  heels  a-tall.  (Good  even'n.  .  .  .  Where 
you  been?  Oh,  I've  been  right  here  on  the  job.  What  is 
it  to-night?  .  .  .  Yes,  sir.  All  right,  in  a  minute.) 

"Well,  of  course,  the  regular  pay  is  seven  dollars  a  week, 
but  it's  the  tips  that  make  it  a  job — about  three  dollars  a 
day  now.  Where  I  was  before,  they  was  four  to  six  dollars 
on  the  night  turn.  You  see,  there  I  had  my  same  tables 
regular,  and  my  friends  come  hi  and  ask  for  me.  (Worces- 
tershire sauce?  Just  a  minute,  ma'am.) 

"Oh,  I  been  makin'  my  living  a  long  tune — ever  since  I 
ran  away  from  home  in  Chicago,  when  I  was  fourteen.  I 


78         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

get  on  fine  with  my  mother  and  everybody  at  home  but  my 
father — he  and  I,  we  don't  make  it.  They  don't  know  I 
married  a  soldier  three  years  ago — goin'  to  tell  'em  when  he 
gets  back  next  month.  Naw,  the  soldier's  wife's  allowance 
don't  help  much  unless  you  help  it  out  yourself.  (Is  that 
all  ? — let's  see,  that's  seventy-five.) ...  I  guess  you're  right, 
I  have  been  lookin'  at  the  clock  a  good  deal.  Well,  you  see, 
he's  waitin'  outside  for  me. ...  I  mean  my  'Sweet  Potato.' ' 

In  the  little  shop  Rachel,  a  homely  but  bright-eyed  and 
interesting  girl,  did  all  the  honors.  In  her  childish  voice, 
which  seemed  somehow  to  carry  the  memory  of  weary 
young  years,  she  thanked  her  stars  that  she  wasn't  quite  as 
small  as  the  dapper  and  very  fresh  young  dwarf  who  told 
his  tougher  companion  as  they  went  out  that  the  next  time 
he  came  back  he'd  "take  a  certain  red-haired  young  lady 
out  to  a  movie."  Her  weariness  of  voice  did  not  prevent 
a  very  appealing  smile. 

"Well,  of  course,  I  don't  remember  nothin'  hardly  of  it 
'cause  we  left  Russia  when  I  was  eight — that's  twelve  years 
ago.  But  it's  such  a  terrible  place.  God,  but  they're 
mean  to  us  Jews — no  schools,  no  nothing.  And  now  it's 
worse.  My  mother  she  ain't  had  no  word  from  her  brothers 
and  sisters  in  four  years — nothing.  We  try  to  send  money 
—but  no  word  ever  comes.  We  think  they're  all  dead. 
What  a  country ! 

"Only  a  few  months  of  night  school  here — that's  all.  I 
had  to  work — you  know,  in  private  families,  scrubbin'  and 
cleanin'  up,  mostly.  But  the  dollar  and  fifty  cents  I  got 
helped  me  to  buy  clothes,  and  my  father  he  got  only  about 
seven  dollars  a  week  then.  Then  I  worked  in  a  factory. 
Five  years  I  been  here.  Yes,  it's  much  better,  and  I  learn 
the  business — the  boss  he  trusts  me  in  everything.  Yes, 
my  father  he  saves  money — enough  that  he  could  buy  a 
store,  but  he's  afraid  he  lose  it  all.  So  now  he  clerks  in  a 
nice  furniture  store  for  twenty-five  dollars  a  week.  My 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    79 

brother  he  works,  too.  So  we  get  on  very  well  now . . .  .Yes, 
sir,  they'll  be  ready  to-morrow  at  four.  Good-day,  sir." 

Wednesday  night  as  I  dropped  into  a  saloon  to  see  if 
anybody  was  there  who  wanted  somebody  to,  listen  to  him, 
who  should  be  on  hand  but  one  of  my  buddies  at  my  first 
steel  plant  ?  As  we  treat  back  and  forth  he  eyes  me  keenly — 
"Well,  what  you  doin'  for  a  livin'  now" — and  I  have  to  do 
some  quick  thinking  to  keep  ahead  of  him  with  the  explana- 
tion of  my  failure  to  stay  either  on  the  open-hearth  with 
him,  or  in  the  later  sheet-mill. 

'"You're  right,"  he  agrees,  "I'd  quit,  too — them  hours 
on  the  floor  is  too  long.  But  my  boss,  he  got  me  exempted 
from  the  draft,  and  I  can't  leave  him." 

After  hearing  all  about  my  old  pals  and  seeing  him  off 
on  his  train  to  the  steel  town,  I  ask  Elizabeth  how  the 
questions  are  coming,  and  whether  her  public  grows  any 
more  polite: 

"Say,  I've  had  the  funniest  bunch  o'  human  beings  you 
ever  saw  to-night.  What  do  you  think?  With  all  these 
questions  about  every  place  hi  the  world  every  half  second, 
up  comes  one  lady  and  says,  '  Did  any  person  ask  you  about 
a  Brown ville  train  to-night?' — 's  if  I  could  remember! 
'N  a  nice  lookin'  party  comes  sailin'  up  'n  asks  how  can  she 
send  her  mother  to  Florida.  'Well,'  I  says,  'she  can  go  to 
Washington  and  then  take  the  Seaboard  Ah*  Line  down.' 
You  should  'a'  seen  her  face.  I  wondered  what  to  goodness 
I'd  done.  She  says:  'Why,  she's  my  mother!  I  wouldn't 
let  her  go  that  way.  I  want  to  send  her  by  passenger 
train!' 

"Tired,  well,  I'll  say  I  am.  But  just  you  wait  until 
Saturday.  I'm  goin'  to  deck  out  in  some  new  duds  and 
show  myself  a  little  attention.  Believe  me,  I  ain't  going 
to  work  or  anything  but  just  walk  down  street. .  . .  Money? 
Well  now  you're  right.  It  does  take  money.  My  new  hat 
cost  eighteen  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  and  I  paid  my  good 


80         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

twelve  dollars  for  a  nifty  little  hand-bag  to  carry.  But  I 
gotta  have  'em  all.  That  girl  over  there,  she  buys  perfume 
at  six  dollars  and  fifty  cents  per  for  just  a  tiny  little  bottle. 

"So  you're  married?  Aw,  you  married  men!  Say,  I 
just  wish  I  had  right  here  now" — and  she  made  a  large  pile 
with  her  hands — "all  the  dollar  bills  married  train-men  and 
others  have  given  me  to  call  up  their  wives  and  tell  'em  any 
excuse  I'd  a  mind  to.  Once  a  fellow  threw  down  a  nickel 
right  here  in  this  station,  and  says,  'When  you  get  that 
number  tell  her  Jersey  City's  on  the  wire?'. . .  Not  me — not 
for  no  nickel!  Then  he  goes  in  a  booth  and  in  a  far-away 
voice  says,  'Why,  hello,  Dearie — yes,  I'm  in  Jersey  City. 
I'm  awful  sorry  but  I  can't  get  home  till  Tuesday.  Are 
you  all  right?  That's  good.'  And  then  he  joins  another 
man  and  two  lady  friends  ten  feet  away!  Makes  me 
sick!" 

Here  the  well-groomed  buyer  of  six-fifty  perfume  re- 
turned, ready  to  leave  in  a  hurry  for  the  end  of  her  turn: 

"I  got  to  sit  up  all  night  with  mother.  She's  sick  with 
gastritis — whatever  that  is — and  has  dreadful  pains.  My 
brother's  been  sitting  up  with  her,  but  he  can't  do  it  another 
night  without  havin'  to  lose  time  from  his  job.  I  guess 
I'll  be  sleepy  around  here  to-morrow  night  all  right." 

And  to  think  the  old  tune  economists  used  to  tell  us  about 
the  "economic  man"  or  woman  who  left  all  his  ordinary 
relationships  behind  him  as  soon  as  he  got  on  the  job  to 
earn  a  living !  The  wonder  is  that  we  all  do  as  well  as  we 
can  with  such  a  network  of  personal  connections  around  us 
to  be  kept  from  snarling — on  the  job  and  off. 

Thursday  was  spent  in  a  near-by  coal  town.  Came  away 
with  board  and  lodging  arranged  for,  and  with  instructions 
to  report  in  working  clothes  and  my  new  miner's  cap  at 
No.  4  mine  about  six- thirty  Monday. 

I'd  hardly  go  as  far  as  to  say  my  first  impressions  were 
good.  I  have  hi  mind  the  dirty  geese  and  the  assortment 


" STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    81 

of  rusted  tubs,  basins,  cans,  bottles,  and  dead  cats  in  the 
ditches.  But  there  are  beautiful  hills  on  all  sides,  white 
lace  curtains  in  all  the  windows — all  front-room  windows — 
and  electric  lights  going  in  many  houses  all  day.  The  woman 
who  cooked  a  very  good  dinner  for  me,  extended  her  half- 
dried  hand  with  a  very  friendly  smile,  and  spoke  of  the  early 
coming  of  new  paper  and  paint.  Like  every  other  mother 
she  was  happy  that  the  baby  had  got  fat  again  so  quick 
after  his  "bronical  pneumonia."  When  I  thought  the 
baby's  crib  represented  the  discovery  of  perpetual  motion, 
she  explained: 

"You  wind  it  up,  Mister,  with  a  spring,  an'  it  keeps 
a-goin'  without  any  attention.  It's  fine  when  you've  got 
a  washin'  or  somethin'  like  that,  but  it  does  spoil  the  baby 
and  makes  it  hard  to  get  him  to  sleep  in  anybody  else's 
house." 

Weather  is  pretty  cold  here,  but  they  say  it's  neither  hot 
nor  cold  120  feet  below  ground. 

White  collars  are  nice,  but  I  hate  to  think  of  all  the  in- 
teresting people  I've  evidently  been  missing  because  of  'em. 

Bitumenburg, 
April  30. 

Well,  for  several  days  I've  been  a  coal-miner — and  so  far 
as  the  work  is  concerned,  have  enjoyed  it. 

It's  positively  queer  how  little  thought  you  give  down 
there  below  ground  to  the  things  you  think  you'd  bother 
about.  After  you  strap  your  little  tin-covered  battery  to 
your  belt,  run  the  rubbered  wire  up  your  back,  strapping 
it  to  the  rear  of  your  cap  and  then  inserting  the  cute  little 
electric  lamp  into  the  visor,  you  sort  of  forget  it's  there. 
So  when  you  get  into  the  "cage"  or  hoist  with  the  other 
miners  and  drop  down  120  feet  suddenly — often  with  a 
feeling  that  your  stomach  is  saying  "I  don't  quite  follow 
you!" — and  start  off  down  the  butt,  or  main  passageway, 


82         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

to  your  location,  you  forget  that  your  tiny  lamp  is  all  there 
is  between  you  and  the  densest  blackness.  Somehow  it 
seems  a  perfectly  proper  place  for  you  to  be  at  that  moment 
— except  when  you  fail  to  stoop  low  enough  and  so  get  a 
bump  on  your  head. 

Monday  I  was  told  to  be  buddy  to  the  wire-man.  Pick 
and  dinner-pails  hi  hand  we  started  off  and  walked  a  mile 
and  a  half  or  more  through  one  passageway  after  another, 
till  we  reached  the  place  where  some  wires  for  bringing 
current  to  the  coal-cutting  machines  had  to  be  taken  down. 
It  was,  for  sure,  a  mile  and  a  half  in  the  school  of  hard 
knocks,  but  each  helped  to  pound  in  the  lesson  of  how  to 
walk  in  a  mine,  bending  over  but  still  keeping  an  eye  out 
—and  up — for  a  low  spot  hi  the  roof. 

My  lamp  seemed  to  make  a  perfect  circle  of  light  and 
darkness — as  though  I  carried  a  hoop  like  a  sort  of  tunnel's 
mouth  straight  up  and  down  from  my  head  to  my  feet, 
in  such  a  way  that,  as  I  moved,  one  foot  was  overtaken  in 
the  blackness  while  the  other  stepped  forward  into  the 
moving  tunnel  of  light.  And  out  from  the  blackness  farther 
ahead  of  us  would  march  the  silent  procession  of  mute, 
coal-shiny  walls,  with  occasionally  an  entrance  to  a  side- 
chamber  or  a  group  of  timbers  holding  up  the  rock  from 
our  heads.  And  then  these,  after  advancing  silently  to 
meet  us  out  of  the  farther  dimness,  would  pass  on  from  the 
edge  of  the  tunnel  of  light  at  my  side  and  in  an  instant  step 
silently  into  the  tunnel  of  absolute  darkness  at  my  elbow. 

It  made  me  think  of  Ulysses: 

"Much  I  have  seen  and  known — cities  and  men — yet 
all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethrough  gleams  that  untrav- 
elled  world  whose  margin  fades  forever  and  forever  as  I 
move." 

Only  this  seemed  to  go  the  other  way — the  untravelled 
world  kept  coming  toward  us — up  to  us — and  then  silently 
and  suddenly  stepping  past  us  into  oblivion. 


H 

0  w 

W 

.Is  '^ 

H 

'S  ^ 

C 

_§  a" 

g 

S6 

CEND  : 

safely  in 
•trip,"  or 

en 
W 
C 

•o  c 
25 
n  n 

s  - 

C 

EH 

8s 

03  § 

EH 

•"    flj 

P 

°  o3 

1 

C 

B 

?x 

fe 

s 

2 

^ 


• 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    83 

And  yet,  as  I  say,  perhaps  because  you  can't  see  your 
own  lamp,  you  seem  to  forget  that  a  mine  is  always  dark— 
unutterably  dark.  You  walk  and  you  work  always  with 
things  in  view,  or  perhaps  you  take  out  a  newspaper  from 
your  pocket — always  you  see  it  plainly.  It  wasn't  until  I 
was  left  alone  that  first  morning  for  a  half-hour,  and  hap- 
pened to  take  off  my  cap  so  that  it  fell  face  in  on  my  coat. 
Then  what  a  blackness!  I  thought  I  had  suddenly  gone 
blind — till  I  recalled  that,  of  course,  I  was  in  a  mine,  and 
'twas  my  lamp  that  had  been  doing  such  noble  service. 
As  I  hid  my  lamp  again  I  found  myself  quickly  whistling 
or  singing  or  jiggling  my  leg.  Why  so?  Well,  because  if  I 
didn't  make  some  noise  or  some  motion  sitting  there  with- 
out seeing  or  feeling  or  hearing  anything  at  all,  I  would 
begin  to  feel  just  as  if  /  wasn't  there  myself — as  though  I 
was  dead  and  gone  and  dried  up  and  blown  away.  Ideas 
and  thoughts  are  all  right,  and  nice  things  to  have  around, 
but  somehow  we  seem  to  require  something  in  the  way  of 
physical  matters  such  as  are  reported  to  us  by  eye  or  ear 
or  muscle  in  order  to  really  prove  to  us  that  we're  alive  and 
on  the  job. 

When  somebody  comes  near,  you  understand  how  much 
his  lamp  counts  because  that's  all  you  can  see  of  him  until 
he  comes  within  the  three  or  four  feet  where  your  own  lamp 
discloses  his  body.  Even  then  it's  hard  to  see  his  features, 
partly  through  lack  of  light  and  partly  through  the  grime 
on  his  face. 

My  first  morning  we  saw  few  other  workers  because  we 
were  taking  wires  out  of  a  worked-out  passage.  The  work 
was  hard  only  when  I  had  to  use  my  pick  to  dig  the  insulator- 
pins  out  of  the  roof  above  me — a  very  awkward  position 
and  bound  to  put  dust  hi  the  eyes.  At  noon,  after  five 
hours'  work,  we  sat  down  on  some  lumber  with  our  dinner- 
buckets  in  our  laps. 

"You've  always  got  to  have  a  good-fittin'  cover  on  your 


84         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

bucket  'round  here,"  said  the  wire-man,  an  energetic  and 
ambitious  chap  of  about  twenty.  "These  rats  are  all-fired 
educated,  and  if  you  don't  watch  out  they'll  get  in  and 
take  everything  but  your  coffee.  They  don't  like  coffee.". 

After  eating,  we  loafed  and  talked  till  one  o'clock.  Some- 
how the  time  did  not  drag  when  we  got  to  work  again.  A 
few  minutes  before  four  we  cleaned  up  the  job  and  started 
back  to  the  hoist.  I  certainly  felt  less  tired  and  was  also 
much  less  dirty  than  when  I  finished  my  first  twelve  hours 
on  the  open-hearth,  or  my  second  ten  hours  on  the  cold 
rolls.  Me,  I'm  for  the  mines  and  the  eight-hour  day. 

Yesterday  the  boss  gave  me  a  harder  day  on  "the  bot- 
tom." That's  near  the  shaft  where  the  little,  low-built 
motors  run  by  trolley  wires  and  bring  their  trams  or 
"trips"  of  fifteen  or  twenty  cars  of  coal.  My  job  was  to 
uncouple  each  of  these  cars  and  at  the  right  moment  give 
it  a  push  down  the  track,  where  another  chap  passed  it  on 
to  the  "eager"  who  ran  it  on  to  one  of  the  two  hoists. 
Then  he  gave  the  signal  to  the  engineer  up  above,  who 
whisked  it  up  to  the  tipple  where  it  was  weighed,  credited 
to  the  miner  whose  check  was  found  in  the  car,  and  then 
emptied  into  a  railroad  car  for  shipment  to  Cleveland  or 
elsewhere.  Some  of  the  cars  were  very  mean  to  move  and 
required  a  good  deal  of  back  work.  One  part  of  the  job 
also  called  for  quickness.  That  was  to  get  down  on  your 
knees  and,  at  the  precise  instant  when  the  motor  had  gone 
onto  a  side-track,  throw  a  little  switch  or  "latch,"  as  they 
call  it,  so  that  the  "trip"  of  cars  would  go  straight  on 
toward  the  shaft.  Once  the  motor-man  came  too  fast  for 
my  inexperience  and  several  cars  went  off  the  track — much 
to  my  dismay.  But  the  boys  only  laughed  and  yelled  to 
Mike  to  come  back  with  his  motor  and  push  'em  on  again. 
Later  another  motor-man  came  hi  very  swiftly.  I  had  a 
quick  picture  of  the  cars  piled  up  again,  with  me  between 
them  and  the  loaded  cars  standing  on  the  other  track. 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    85 

It  was  a  thick  instant.  Luckily  my  buddy  saw  the  danger 
and  quickly  took  my  place  at  the  latch,  while  I  breathed 
prayers  of  thankfulness  and  ran  to  set  the  brakes,  or  put 
the  wooden  blocks  or  sprags  into  the  wheels  before  the  cars 
ran  into  the  bottom  of  the  shaft. 

But  even  yesterday's  pushing  was  easier  than  many  days 
I've  seen  in  the  steel-mills. 

To-day  I  went  again  with  the  wire-man  and  enjoyed  it 
the  most  yet.  My  job  was  to  pick  holes  in  the  coal  walls 
or  slate  roof  for  him  to  locate  the  insulator-pins  for  carry- 
ing the  wire  into  a  new  part  of  the  mine.  We  were  nearer 
the  real  miners  or  " loaders."  Every  once  in  a  while  we'd 
hear  out  of  the  darkness  somewhere  a  gruff  warning  of 
"Fire!"  We'd  duck  quickly  around  a  corner  and  wait 
until  a  great  boom  shook  the  earth  and  the  ah-  most  uncom- 
fortably, with  possibly  some  slate  dropping  about  us  from 
the  roof.  Shortly  afterward  we'd  hear  the  loader  shovel- 
ling into  his  car  the  coal  his  explosion  had  brought  down, 
as  we  sniffed  the  smoke  on  its  way  out  through  the  entry. 

Then,  too,  the  driver  and  his  mule  would  pass  oftener, 
bringing  empty  cars  to  the  loaders  and  taking  filled  ones 
up  to  the  "parting"  or  side-track,  where  he'd  couple  them 
into  the  "trips"  for  the  motor-man  to  haul  out  to  "the 
bottom." 

The  driver  in  that  "face"  or  passage  is  young  and 
friendly,  but  how  he  does  swear  and  shout  and  beseech  and 
whistle  and  pound  at  his  long-eared ' '  Mutt ! ' '  How ' '  Mutt' ' 
can  go  as  fast  as  he  does,  running  without  any  safety-lamp 
on  his  head  into  the  darkness,  placing  with  certainty  his 
feet  between  the  ties  and  among  the  pieces  of  fallen  slate, 
and  keeping  his  head  safe  from  the  roof,  now  high,  now  low, 
I  swear  I  don't  know !  Horses,  they  tell  me,  can't  do  it. 

After  these  few  days  of  it,  I'd  say  I  could  stand — and 
enjoy — for  eight  hours  a  day  anybody's  job  in  the  mines 
except  the  mule's.  If  I  were  in  his  position  I'm  hanged  if 


86         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

I  wouldn't  do  as  he  often  tries  to  do — kick  the  lining  out 
of  anybody  that  comes  too  near  his  heels. 

But  I  must  say — also  after  only  a  few  days  of  it — that 
the  trouble  with  coal-mining  is  that  the  eight  hours  under- 
ground with  your  buddy,  your  little  light,  and  your  pick 
are  only  a  part  of  it  all;  you've  got  to  spend  the  other  six- 
teen in  a  mining  town,  or,  as  it's  often  called,  a  mining-camp. 

But  more  about  that  later. 

Now  for  bed  and  as  much  of  sleep  as  possible  under  the 
circumstances  before  the  call  at  five- thirty. 

Bitumenburg, 
Thursday,  May  first. 

To-day  brought  more  the  feel  of  a  real  miner  than  any 
time  yet,  and  my  back  and  shoulders  aren't  sure  they're 
happy  about  it,  though  the  rest  of  me  is.  At  least  five  of 
those  cars  of  slate  that  the  boys  down  at  "the  bottom" 
pushed  onto  the  cage  were  the  product  of  mine  own  hand 
and  shovel — and  back  and  shoulders. 

When  they  sent  me  down  to  the  job  they  cautioned  me 
to  use  water  every  once  in  a  while  so  as  not  to  take  the 
temper  out  of  my  shovel.  I  didn't  understand  them  at 
first.  Finally  I  saw  the  joke  and  answered  that  I'd  try  to 
be  careful,  but  that  where  I'd  worked  before  I  had  always 
insisted  on  having  a  special  water-cooled  shovel.  To-night 
as  I  came  up  I  suggested  to  the  boys  that  the  pumps  be 
given  an  extra  turn  so  as  to  take  up  the  wetness  caused  by 
my  sweat.  Slate  plus  shovel  certainly  equals  sweat.  Still  it 
was  a  good  day  down  there  mostly  by  myself  and  my  shovel 
and  my  friendly  little  lamp — with  occasional  words  with 
the  driver  or  the  Polish  loader  working  in  the  same  heading. 

But  about  those  sixteen  hours  above  ground  as  mentioned : 

On  my  advance  trip  down  here  last  week  my  eyes  and 
nose  noticed  too  many  things  to  make  my  prospective  coal- 
mining altogether  a  delight  to  think  about.  The  little  old 


" STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    87 

Irish  landlady,  too,  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  my  having 
three  or  five  roommates.  But,  after  all,  that  number 
seemed  to  go  pretty  well  with  the  kitchen  and  the  back 
yard,  and  I  might  as  well  take  the  whole  dose.  But  I  con- 
fess I  was  stumped  when  I  arrived  and  found  that  the  three 
beds  were  all  double.  Also  when  I  was  introduced  to  my 
bedfellow,  Jack,  who  proceeded  to  tell  me  that  he  had 
just  returned — without  any  baggage — from  a  week's  spree, 
and  would  I  go  with  him  to  find  a  little  whiskey  to  help 
top  off  and  stop  off  with. 

The  county  is  supposed  to  be  dry,  but  we  made  the 
round  of  three  or  four  kitchens  where  we  stepped  over  the 
babies  and  the  chickens,  and  were  assured  each  tune  in  a 
different  accent:  "No  got — no  got  nodding."  Later  I  con- 
siderately managed  to  get  separated  from  him  and  finally 
went  back  and  turned  in — to  waken  at  one  to  find  him 
almost  too  much  under  the  influence  to  explain:  "They 
didn't  (hie)  know  you — 'fraid  of  you.  Had  plenty  when 
(hie)  went  back  by  self ! . . .  G'  night." 

His  constant  snores  or  chokings  were  terrible  to  hear  and 
hard  to  quiet  without  ferocious  jabs  and  pokes.  At  three 
the  two  other  boarders  came  in  from  their  night  shift.  So 
it  was  a  pretty  bad  night — surpassed,  I  guess,  only  by  the 
night  on  the  cattle-boat,  when  the  hay  we  had  in  our  sleep- 
ing-sacks proved  to  house  some  husky,  cattle-fed  graybacks. 

The  next  day  I  asked  Granny,  the  landlady,  if  I  couldn't 
sleep  by  myself  in  the  idle  third  bed. 

"Well,  Oi  should  say  not!  What  do  you  think  Oi  am 
that  Oi  could  afford  to  give  ivry  boarder  a  bed  and  beddin' 
to  hisself !  Sure,  Jack  snores,  he  has  tonsils !  He's  had 
'em  since  'e  was  a  bye. . . .  And  you're  no  better'n  him 
either,  sor." 

Last  night  the  third  bed  was  filled  by  two  boys  who  came 
in  from  the  rain  after  stumbling  through  the  lightless  and 
watery  cinder  roads  in  the  absence  of  sidewalks. 


88         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

"Oh,  say,  this  is  the  first  bed  in  three  nights!  But, 
believe  me,  we've  sure  been  hittin'  the  high  spots.  Wow, 
that  feels  good ! . . .  But  say,  it's  got  to  be  an  all-fired  good 
job  to  hold  me  in  this  dark  place.  .  .  .  Say,  what'll  we  do 
without  no  baggage?  Oh,  I  guess  we  can  double-shift  this 
underwear  and  it  wouldn't  kick  none  if  we  do  make  it 
work  night  turn.  And  when  we  get  a  little  stake  we  can 
buy  a  lot  o'  truck.  Goo'  night,  all." 

At  least  their  tonsils  seemed  all  right,  thanks  be.  Jack's 
are  not  quite  so  bad  now  that  he  is  living  a  very  simple 
life,  having  spent  his  last  dime  in  the  speak-easies  and 
already  owing  too  many  fellow-citizens  to  permit  any 
further  "touches"  or  expenditures  of  any  kind  till  next 
pay-day — a  long,  long  two  weeks. 

So  you  see,  it's  a  relief  to  pile  out  of  my  blankets  and 
leave  my,  or  rather  our,  sheet — yes,  our  one  sheet — and  get 
off  to  the  wholesome  dirt  and  darkness  and  interest  of  the 
underground,  "inside."  The  misery  is  to  come  back — with 
aching  shoulders  and  blackened  hands  and  face  and  back 
and  chest — to  find  nothing  but  a  basin  on  the  filthy  back 
porch.  I  think  I'll  make  a  practice  of  shaking  hands  with 
every  bathtub  I  meet  the  rest  of  my  days ! 

This  afternoon,  after  my  eight  hours  with  shovel  and 
slate,  I  came  home  black  as  night  and  sweaty  and  tired 
through  the  rain  and  mud.  Somehow  the  little  stream  down 
in  the  bebottled  back  yard  never  seemed  to  be  so  full  of 
unsightly  and  unsavory  things.  Certainly  the  back  porch 
never  had  such  a  collection  of  unmentionable  litter  upon  it, 
nor  were  the  babies  and  children  ever  in  such  disreputable 
condition.  On  Granny's  urging  I  sat  me  down  wearily 
with  only  a  little  washing  of  my  hands  and  tried  to  be  in- 
terested hi  the  food.  Most  of  the  boarders  were  devouring 
then*  ham  and  potatoes  from  off  the  red  tablecloth,  spread, 
of  course,  in  the  little  kitchen.  (The  front  room  is  only 
for  the  state  occasions,  like  weddings  and  funerals.)  Over 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    89 

there  in  the  corner,  next  week's  washing  was  piled  high — 
with  the  dirty  towels  hanging  on  the  door.  Back  of  me  on 
the  lounge  were  thrown  the  half-dried  clothes  in  process. 
In  arm's  reach  on  the  chair,  by  the  stove,  sat  the  dirty  baby, 
whimpering,  with  nothing  on  but  a  solitary,  soiled  woolen 
garment,  it's  mother  shouting  to  it:  "Now  you  just  wait 
there  till  I  finish  this  job  and  I'll  attend  to  you !"  Hardly 
a  yard  from  the  table  she  was  doing  the  week's  washing, 
scrubbing  and  splashing  strenuously  over  the  wooden  tub. 
Next  to  her  by  the  door  was  my  bedfellow,  Jack,  driven 
inside  by  the  rain,  stripped  to  his  waist  and  standing  over 
the  basin  with  many  snortings  and  splashings,  getting  the 
coal  dust  from  off  his  hairy  chest  and  husky  back.  In  be- 
tween, underneath  and  around  were  twelve-year  Margaret, 
little  Ethel  with  her  wan  cheeks  and  eyes  and  clubbed  foot, 
and  Granny — all  in  a  steamy  mess  and  muddle  of  serving 
and  washing  and  sweeping  and  crying  and  scolding. 

And  in  it  all  I  tried  to  eat — and  I  guess  because  of  that 
equation  of  slate  and  shovel  succeeded. 

I  wonder  who  coined  that  phrase:  "It's  a  great  life — if 
you  don't  weaken."  It's  a  life-saver. 

After  supper  my  courage  wasn't  strong  enough  to  follow 
Jack's  example,  but  I  did  manage  to  get  most  of  the  dirt 
off  into  the  little  basin  and  thence  out  from  the  porch  onto 
the  ground,  whence  it  runs  under  the  porch  of  the  tenants 
of  the  other  half  of  the  house.  Some  of  it,  I  must  say, 
apparently  stayed  on  my  face  in  spite  of  all  my  efforts, 
judging  from  the  looks  of  the  towel — our  towel — or  as  you 
might  say,  the  "club  towel."  And  it  takes  something  more 
than  a  little  pale  grime  to  be  noticeable  on  that  club  towel 
after  it  has  been  used  a  few  days  by  the  "members" ! 

My  roommates  speak  as  though  the  Saturday-night  bath 
can  be  engineered  with  satisfaction  and  also  efficiency. 
But  it  almost  seems  selfish  for  them  to  insist  upon  having 
it,  because  it  means  moving  the  whole  family  out  of  the 


90         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

room  which  serves  not  only  for  kitchen,  pantry,  and  dining- 
room,  but  also  for  laundry,  sitting-room,  parlor,  and  nursery. 
Ordinarily  the  children  and  grown-ups  of  the  family  go  to 
bed  an  hour  or  so  later  than  I  do,  so  that  on  any  but  Saturday 
night  the  bath  would  mean  less  sleep  for  the  day's  work. 

Talk  about  the  simple  life  in  a  faucetless  home.  It  seems 
to  me  highly  complex. 

Thanks  to  the  daylight-saving,  I've  done  my  eight  hours, 
suppered,  washed,  and  got  into  my  clean  clothes,  and  still 
it's  not  yet  six  o'clock.  It  has  cleared  off  and  the  children 
are  out  on  the  road  dragging  home  over  the  rough  cinder 
ruts  their  little  wagons  full  of  coal,  picked  up  at  the  com- 
pany dumps  while  others  carry  water  from  the  wells.  And 
as  they  work  they  follow  the  example  of  their  elders;  little 
tots  of  eight  and  ten  curse  at  each  other  shockingly.  Across 
the  street  a  foreigner  is  shouting  at  yard's  length  in  a  con- 
versation with  his  wife,  who  finally  ends  it  and  rushes  into 
the  house  with  screams  of  "Aw,  you  go  to  h—  - !"  Under 
the  bridge  other  dirty  little  tikes  play  in  the  stream  in  the 
midst  of  the  sea  of  litter  of  rusty  this  and  irons  and  rags 
and  papers  and  baskets  so  that  nowhere  is  the  gravel 
bottom  to  be  seen. 

From  down-stairs  for  the  tenth  or  fifteenth  time  since 
supper  the  baby  screams  the  sudden  scream  of  pain  from  a 
tumble  or  a  slap,  followed  by  the  scream  of  exasperation 
from  shrill-voiced  and  overworked  mother.  And  now  the 
wagon  of  coal  has  caused  trouble:  "You  hit  me  again,  you 
— !"  yells  one  of  the  youngsters  of  nine  at  another. 
"You  just  hit  me  again,  -  -  you!"  Up  the  road 

loll  with  obvious  unconcern  two  young  miners  who  turn  in 
toward  the  kitchen  of  the  neighbor  woman.  Her  nine-year 
old  daughter  will  help  her  hand  out  the  beer  or  whiskey, 
while  one  of  the  babies  sleeps  peacefully  hi  its  crib  and  a 
chicken  or  two  seek  tidbits  under  the  stove  or  table. 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    91 

And  beyond  the  back  yards  across  the  road  and  up  above 
the  stream,  more  yelling  children  and  barking  dogs  and 
muddy,  cackling  geese  show  up  against  the  splendid  green 
of  the  hillside  as  it  rises  majestically  up  and  up  to  meet 
the  glorious  blue  and  white  of  sky  and  cloud  of  a  wondrous 
curfew-time.  Yes,  there's  the  bell  from  the  little  church 
now! 

"How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of 
Him — !"  But  somehow  He  seems  far  away  from  His 
children  here. 

They  tell  me  that  many,  many  coal-camps  are  much  worse. 

"Why,  I  remember,"  said  one  chap  last  night,  "and  it 
wasn't  long  ago  either — when  the  mud  was  knee-deep  right 
here  in  these  streets.  These  cinders  make  it  fine  now." 

But  it's  time  to  go  up  to  the  ball.  It's  being  given  for 
the  benefit  of  the  new  Polish  church.  I'm  assured  that  all 
the  beauty  and  the  chivalry  of  the  town  is  to  be  gathered 
there. 

Bitumenburg, 
Friday, 
May  2. 

The  most  interesting  day  in  the  mines  to  date!  I've 
been  a  real  miner — that  is  a  "loader" — and  sent  up  to  the 
tipple  car  after  car  of  coal,  loosened  by  the  powder  of  mine 
own  tamping  and  exploding,  brought  down  to  the  floor 
with  mine  own  pick,  and  loaded  into  the  car  with  mine  own 
shovel  and  sweating  shoulders.  A  few  weeks  of  such  work 
and  I  could  be  a  capable  loader,  for  it  was  a  day  not  only 
of  work  but  of  instruction. 

I  was  delighted,  after  I  adjusted  my  lamp  and  reported 
for  duty,  to  be  assigned  to  an  experienced  miner  who  was 
able  to  speak  my  own  language — almost;  for  his  Scotch  was 
so  very  burry  that  I  often  had  trouble  understanding  him. 
But  I  did  get  enough  to  make  it  a  most  profitable  and  en- 
joyable day,  well  worth  its  cost  in  sweat  and  muscle. 


92         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

"Mac"  was  sure  enough  born  for  a  mine;  in  fact  his 
shortness  makes  him  a  perfect  fit  for  our  five-foot  seam  of 
coal.  In  spite  of  his  fifty-three  years  he's  a  hard  worker 
and  a  real  shovel-wrestler. 

"Yes,  sir,  me  first  minin'  was  done  when  Ah  was  ten 
years  old — and  Ah've  been  at  it  ever  since  every  day  Ah 
wasn't  sick — or  enjoyin'  meself.  Mony's  the  time  I  mind 
me  and  me  fawther  starrtin'  off  a-walkin'  to  the  mine  in 
Scawtland  at  three  in  the  mornin'  and  a-gettin'  back  at 
six — me  mother  a-washin'  me  face,  oonlacin'  me  shoes  and 
a-puttin'  of  me  to  bed  without  me  knowin'  the  dufference 
till  'twas  three  again  and  time  to  get  oop  an'  awf." 

I  think  I  should  have  liked  to  meet  that  father  who  gave 
him  his  training  for  his  life's  work. 

"He  alms  told  us  laads — 'Keep  her  awf  her  feet,'"  —he 
would  puff  as  he  picked  away  at  the  bottom  while  warily 
watching  the  great  overhanging  cliff  of  coal  near  and  above 
our  heads,  till  finally,  perhaps  with  the  help  of  a  touch  of 
iron  bar,  a  ton  or  two  would  fall  and  break  obligingly  for 
our  shovels  at  our  feet. 

"And  another  thing  I've  allus  minded  me  of  — ' Remember, 
laads,'  me  fawther'd  say,  'civility  is  a  better  protection  to 
the  head  than  a  steel  helmet."1 

A  born  teacher  is  Mac.  "Now  coom  over  here  so  ye 
can  change  your  hands.  There,  ye've  got  it  joost  right. 
'Use  your  bean  wherever  it  can  save  your  back,'  is  a  motto 
o'  mine  and  one  that's  saved  me  mony  pains." 

And  always  his  words  were  followed  with  the  chance  to 
do  the  thing — which  is  good  teaching.  So  after  he  had 
started  in  the  exactly  right  direction,  I  worked  the  long 
auger-drill  to  make  the  slender  six-foot  hole  for  the  powder, 
tamped  hi  the  watered  slack  upon  it,  then  lighted  the 
"squib,"  and  finally — and  only  with  great  self-control- 
walked  instead  of  ran  away  while  it  burned  toward  the 
charge.  From  the  next  "room"  or  working-chamber  I 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    93 

watched  the  explosion  through  the  " break- through,"  and 
felt  as  if  I  were  on  the  Western  front  as  the  flame  shot  out 
and  the  earth  and  air  heaved  viciously,  and  slate  and  coal 
rattled  down.  Tons  and  tons  of  it  were  pushed  out  toward 
our  car,  some  lumps  requiring  the  pick  before  they  could  be 
lifted.  In  a  few  fast  minutes  we'd  have  it  full  to  over- 
flowing and  would  go  back  to  our  box  to  sit  down  for  a 
bit  of  a  chat,  till  the  boy  and  his  mule  would  carry  it  off 
to  the  "parting"  and  we  could  push  hi  an  empty  for  another 
loading. 

Apparently  my  recent  researches  into  the  fine  art  of  shov- 
elling have  not  been  in  vain,  judging  from  his  compliments. 
But  coal  is  a  delight  to  negotiate,  compared  with  the  heavy 
dolomite,  or  iron  ore,  or  manganese,  of  an  open-hearth. 
It's  more  dusty,  but  that's  a  small  matter. 

I  judge  that  it's  the  uncertainty  of  the  driver's  coming 
that  makes  a  loader  work  almost  feverishly  till  the  car  is 
filled — when  he  proceeds  to  loaf.  I'm  told  that  after  a 
few  years  of  such  training  a  miner  finds  it  hard  on  his  self- 
respect  to  have  to  adopt  the  slow,  even,  twelve-hour  gait 
he  finds  in  the  ordinary  mill.  I  noticed,  too,  that  the  load- 
er's training  of  hustle-loaf  made  even  the  wire-man  and 
others  follow  the  same  plan  (for  most  of  them  have  been 
loaders  at  some  time)  with  the  result  that  I'm  sure  the  day- 
workers  throughout  the  mine,  even  though  miles  away  from 
any  foreman,  give  a  better  day's  stint  of  muscle  and  ser- 
vice than  the  labor  gangs  I've  been  hi  where  the  foreman's 
eye,  and,  more  to  the  point,  his  voice,  were  constantly  hi 
evidence. 

The  amount  of  pride  he  took  in  his  possession  of  all  the 
mysteries  of  mining  was  splendid.  "At  first,  of  coorse, 
Ah'd  roon  if  Ah  saw  the  gas-fire  a-coomin'  oot  from  the 
face.  But  later  Ah  cu'd  gauge  to  a  few  feet  how  far  'twud 
coom — and  sit  still  on  me  box  comfortable  and  cool-like." 

His  skill  represented,  to  be  sure,  forty-three  years  in  the 


94         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

dark  hallways  of  the  school  of  pick  and  shovel,  located  in 
various  States  here  and  back  in  "Scawtland."  There  the 
mines  were  mostly  1,500  to  2,000  feet  down,  and  generally 
" gassy."  "Wy,  there,  uf  a  mon'd  coom  to  worrk  with 
even  one  match  in  hees  pocket,  he'd  get  sixty  days  in  jail 
forr't!" 

Of  schooling  he  had  practically  none  at  any  time. 

"Wull,  it  do  seem  to  me  that  all  this  here  oonrest  is  like 
to  coom  from  the  illiments — for,  dootless,  these  be  oon- 
settled  by  the  warr  and  all  that  there  connonadin'." 

But,  personally,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  who  could  lessen 
the  huge  respect  which  I  brought  away  with  me  for  the 
contribution  he  has  made  to  the  doing  of  the  world's  work 
and  the  meeting  of  the  world's  needs  with  the  untiring  en- 
ergy of  his  hands  and  shoulders  and  the  interest  and  en- 
thusiasm of  his  heart  and  head.  Indeed  all  work  and  life 
may  be  a  school  if  always  you  carry  in  your  memory  the 
wisdom  of  a  wise  "fawther!" 

"Uf  a  mon  can  tell  ye  soomthin',  laads,  don't  be  impoo- 
dent — thank  him." 

"Ah  dunno,"  he  answered,  when  I  asked  why  he  had 
never  gone  into  any  other  work.  "Ah  dunno" — and  then 
a  moment  later — "but  Ah've  never  liked  a  boss  too  close 
around  me,  y'  oonderstand  ?  " 

That  seems  to  be  the  general  testimony.  There  is  no 
boss  near  by  to  take  away  the  pleasure  of  working  as  much 
or  as  little  as  you  like,  or  to  steal  the  joy  of  using  your  own 
skill  and  "know-how"  for  getting  your  results.  Further- 
more, these  results,  with  the  help  of  the  watchful  "check- 
weigh-man"  paid  by  the  union  to  sit  alongside  the  com- 
pany's man  and  note  all  weights,  can  be  depended  on  to 
represent  a  certain  definite  amount  in  dollars  and  cents. 
If  the  number  of  cars  sent  up  looks  like  a  good  day's  in- 
come, or  if  it's  "a  morning  after  the  night  before,"  you  can 
take  your  dinner-pail  and  walk  out  without  bothering  to 


''STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    95 

wait  for  any  whistles.  To-day,  for  instance,  the  Welshman 
in  the  next  room  left  at  two  while  his  grandson  continued. 
I  guess  he  deserves  to  leave  when  he  wants  to.  He  started 
in  a  big  mine  over  there  when  he  was  ten,  and  has  mined 
ever  since.  He's  now  seventy !  A  fair-spoken,  even- 
tempered  man  he  seems. 

Too  often,  I  fear,  many  hours  are  lost  by  waiting  for 
a  careless,  irresponsible,  mule-abusing  driver  to  bring  the 
cars,  or  for  the  machine-runners  to  sober  up  after  pay-day 
and  come  back  to  undercut  the  "face"  with  a  gash  of  about 
six  inches  at  the  level  of  the  floor  so  that  the  explosion  can 
find  the  coal  "off  its  feet,"  and  therefore  ready  to  loosen 
with  the  shock  and  tumble  to  the  floor. 

"Dese  d—  -  fool  cutters — when  they  have  money,  dey 
do  no  work.  No  money? — den  work.  Dey  no  cut  coal 
to-day — me  no  can  work.  No  coal? — no  money  me," 
was  the  way  my  Polish  loader  of  yesterday,  with  his  rising 
inflections,  told  his  tale  of  woe  as  he  found  himself  com- 
pelled to  go  home  at  noon. 

To-day  Mac  and  I  worked  more  than  an  hour — and  so 
lost  the  benefit  of  several  tons  of  coal — jacking  and  pushing 
and  lifting  a  heavily  loaded  car  which  our  driver  let  go  off 
the  tracks  into  a  watery  hole  a  short  distance  from  the  face. 

"In  many's  the  mine  Ah  been  in  he'd  be  given  his  time 
for  thot,"  wailed  Mac  again  and  again.  "Besides,  Ah've 
asked  often  and  often  for  iron  hi  place  o'  these  here  wooden 
rails." 

If  "the  final  test  of  knowledge  is  to  prevent,"  as  some 
Frenchman  has  said,  then  it  certainly  seems  that  manage- 
ment very  often  fails  to  meet  that  test  by  foreseeing  and 
preventing  the  little  accidents  and  losses  of  time  and  strength 
which  finally  make  the  worker  accustomed  to  below-par 
production,  and,  therefore,  below-par  earnings  for  the  com- 
pany and  himself. 

"Ah,   'tis  often  and   often   this  happens,   Buddy,"   he 


96         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

would  say  to  soothe  my  own  regret  at  losing  my  chance  to 
help  make  a  good  showing  for  the  day.  As  it  was,  we  got 
only  eleven  cars  instead  of  the  thirteen  we  could  have  gotten 
if  we  had  been  given  better  millwright  or  track-layer  ser- 
vice— and  instead  of  the  fifteen  or  more  if  I'd  come  in  as 
early  as  he. 

Well,  at  any  rate,  I'm  a  better  man  for  my  day's  closer 
acquaintance  with  the  rough  but  shiny  face  of  a  seam  of 
coal,  and  the  rough  but  true  and  wholesome  heart  of  my 
Scotchie  Mac.  I'm  much  obliged  to  have  met  them  both. 

Oh,  yes,  about  the  ball. 

From  the  row  of  hard-working  matrons  sitting  with  the 
children  on  the  chairs,  the  boys  with  the  pompadours  and 
the  girls  with  the  tight  skirts  and  the  brown,  muscular  arms, 
to  the  foreigners  with  the  great  mustaches,  the  whole  town 
was  there — and  evidently  hugely  enjoying  it.  The  ener- 
getic and  attractive  young  wives  of  some  of  the  younger 
bosses  did  a  big  business  at  the  counter  covered  with  cakes, 
pop,  and  ice-cream  cones.  The  imported  music  was  greatly 
appreciated.  If  I  had  danced  my  first  choice  would  have 
been  a  slight  little  blonde,  who  seemed  the  belle  in  pop- 
ularity. Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  I  didn't,  for  I'm  told 
since  that 

"Well,  yes,  Miss is  a  little  wayward — and  she  has 

a  child. .  . .  But  she's  well  thought  of." 

I've  no  doubt  that  it's  hard  for  a  community  to  be  par- 
ticular about  morals  when  the  absence  of  lights,  water  and 
sewage  systems,  recreation  places,  playgrounds,  sidewalks 
and  lawns,  bathtubs,  and  other  such-like  wholesome  things 
of  life  make  it  difficult  to  be  particular  about  much  of  any- 
thing else. 

It  seems  to  me  certain,  too,  that  the  short  eight-hour 
day  down  in  the  headings  makes  every  one  of  these  lacks 
more  dangerous,  and  the  moral  results  more  questionable. 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    97 

After  eight  hours'  sleep  there  is  still  another  eight  for  the 
enjoyment  of  life — wholesome  life  if  the  aids  and  facilities 
are  there,  unwholesome  if  they're  not.  If  the  work  were 
twelve  hours  it  would  be  a  matter  of  piling  into  bed — per- 
haps after  a  whiskey-beer  or  two  to  make  sure  of  a  sound 
slumber — to  get  ready  for  the  next  turn.  Long  hours 
bring  their  own  moral  complications,  too,  but  it's  a  question 
which  to  choose  for  raising  a  family:  a  town  of  the  twelve- 
hour  shift  with  good  sanitation  and  recreation,  or  one  with 
the  eight-hour  shift  and  nothing  but  four-room  houses  with 
no  plumbing  and  without  the  other  civic  advantages  which 
seem  to  go  with  it. 

I  wonder  what  job  to-morrow  will  bring.  I  could  hardly 
be  a  motor-man,  or  even  his  " snapper"  or  coupler-boy, 
without  more  experience.  The  " trapper's"  job  is  too  easy 
—just  to  open  the  door  or  throw  the  " latch"  at  certain 
junction  places.  Of  course  I  couldn't  be  a  "fire-boss," 
because  he  has  to  pass  a  State  examination  before  he  can 
make  his  daily  examinations  of  every  passage  and  "room." 
I'll  be  just  as  happy  not  to  drive  a  mule — they're  too  danger- 
ous. My  friend  Otto  was  all  doubled  up  and  had  to  leave 
to-day  because  of  an  awful  kick  from  his  hard-working  but 
highly  contentious  "Mutt." 

Well,  here's  hoping  'twill  be  as  interesting  as  to-day — 
and  that  "Jack's  tonsils"  will  let  me  have  a  fairly  decent 
sleep  in  the  meantime. 

Bitumenburg, 
Saturday, 
May  3. 

Another  hard  but  interesting  day — as  "track-layer's 
helper." 

Was  "buddy"  to  Domenico,  an  Italian  born  in  France. 
In  spite  of  his  seven  years  in  this  country  he  speaks  Italian 
and  French,  but  only  a  little  English.  He  is  young  enough 
and  bright  enough  to  make  a  good  deal  of  himself  if  he  could 


98         WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

somehow  contrive  to  add  English  to  his  tool-box.  But  he 
knows  little  if  anything  outside  the  mines  and  mining 
towns,  and  the  chances  of  his  making  the  break  for  English 
are  poor.  Anyway,  he's  a  good,  industrious  worker,  seems 
to  know  his  job,  and,  in  line  with  mine  habits,  works  hard 
for  a  good  period  and  then  relaxes  a  few  minutes  with  his 
dinner-pail  on  his  lap  ("no  eat — no  can  work,"  as  he  puts 
it),  and  does  a  day's  turn  that  is  mighty  creditable,  all  the 
more  so  considering  that  the  foreman  is  far  away. 

Our  job  was  to  remove  the  tracks  from  old  and  abandoned 
rooms,  relaying  them  in  others — a  day  of  pulling  or  pound- 
ing spikes,  " picking"  out  little  trenches  for  the  ties  carried 
out  from  the  abandoned  rooms,  carrying  long  rails  from 
one  place  to  another,  and  so  on.  Nothing  too  easy  on  arms 
and  backs — nor  yet  too  hard. 

Came  closer  to  the  danger  of  coal-mining  than  any  tune 
yet.  In  one  or  two  of  the  oldest  rooms  a  lot  of  roof  had 
already  fallen  in,  and  many  of  the  timbers,  though  still 
standing,  were  badly  bent  or  broken.  On  one  the  cross- 
piece  at  the  top  was  bent  down  at  each  end  by  the  weight 
of  the  hill  above  it,  and  as  I  worked  I  could  see  fresh  cracks 
appear  hi  the  middle  of  it !  I  kept  as  close  to  the  good  posts 
as  possible  when  pulling  out  the  spikes  or  ties,  and  was 
very  quick  to  respond  to  my  buddy's  "Listen !"  when  occa- 
sionally he  would  stop,  as  all  miners  seem  to  do,  to  see  if 
the  slate  is  giving  its  warning  crackle.  As  we  sat  lunching 
in  one  passage  and  there  came  a  great,  dull  boom,  he 
said:  "Dere!  Rock  he  fall  where  we  work  little  time 
ago." 

On  the  whole,  safety  seems  to  have  a  lot  of  everybody's 
thought,  from  the  fire-boss,  who  must  daily — or  rather, 
nightly — chalk  the  date  on  every  room  before  the  cutters 
or  loaders  dare  start  work,  down  to  the  most  foreign  worker 
and  the  most  Godless  mule-pounder. 

"Stop!"   said  Mac,   as  we  walked   out  yesterday  and 


" STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    99 

heard  a  dull,  distant  thud.     "  Always  keep  your  ears  cocked 
in  a  mine!" 

Sure  enough,  fifty  yards  farther  on,  we  found  a  few  hun- 
dred pounds  of  slate  had  dropped  ahead  of  us  onto  the 
track  where  we  walked. 

Thursday  a  Polish  loader  helped  me  out  of  a  dangerous 
situation  where  I  thought  I  had  to  stand  and  shovel  right 
under  a  very  bad  piece  of  roof. 

"No!    No!"  he  said  when  he  looked  at  it.     "He  fall 
down — you  keel.     Put   dees  here."    And   he  shoved  my 
car  under  the  bad  place.     "Now  come  down — keel  d — 
fool  car!" 

Later  he  took  his  bar  and  brought  down  several  tons  of 
the  bad  place  right  into  the  car — a  very  good  piece  of 
head  work. 

Those  who  load  "rooster"  coal  have  to  go  into  worked- 
out  rooms,  saw  out  the  farthermost  supporting  timbers  so 
as  to  bring  down  the  five  feet  of  slate  roof  with  the  three- 
foot  vein  of  good  "rooster"  above  it,  sawing  and  retreating 
till  the  whole  room  has  fallen  in.  Apparently  they  do  it 
with  great  skill,  trained  listening,  and  observation — and 
moderate  safety.  It  doesn't  look  good  to  me. 

To  my  surprise,  the  old  style  safety-lamp  is  carried  by 
the  fire-boss  to  detect  gas.  Gas  gets  in  through  the  wire 
meshes  above  the  flame  and  ignites  with  a  little  pop,  the 
wire  preventing  outside  explosion  by  absorbing  the  heat. 
Before  the  lamp  was  invented  I  understand  "fire  devils" 
ignited  with  a  torch  the  gas  when  found  in  small  quanti- 
ties, and  then  lay  down  on  the  floor,  covered  all  hi  wool, 
which  singes  but  does  not  burn,  till  the  gas — it  always 
floats  and  burns  higher  than  the  air — was  thus  consumed ! 
Where  the  gas  was  too  great  to  be  burned,  a  grindstone 
and  steel  were  used  for  striking  sparks  enough  to  give  the 
miner  light.  These  are  not  hot  enough  to  ignite  the  gas. 
In  gaseous  mines  certain  powders  are  used  for  exploding, 


100        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

which  go  off  so  quickly  that  they  do  not  ignite  the  gas — 
taking  one  five-thousandth  of  the  time,  says  an  expert,  of 
the  flash  of  ordinary  black  powder  such  as  Mac  and  I 
watched  yesterday — which,  by  the  way,  was  followed  by 
the  flash  of  the  gas  released  by  the  coal  and  ignited  by  the 
explosion  or  by  the  burning  paper  of  our  charge. 

The  State  inspector's  men  visit  every  mine  regularly,  and 
their  suggestions  are  posted  publicly,  but  nobody  yet  seems 
to  have  done  anything  to  lessen  the  very  real  danger  factor 
carried  around  hi  the  hind  hoofs  of  almost  every  mule. 
Almost  every  miner  can  tell  of  this  or  that  sad  experience 
with  those  hoofs;  they  are  genuinely  feared.  After  talking 
with  the  boss  driver  the  other  night  it  almost  looked  to  me 
as  though  there  ought  to  be  something  like  "The  Psycho- 
logical Bureau  of  Mule-Handling  Research." 

"Well,  I've  learned,"  he  said  very  seriously,  "that  if  a 
stubborn  mule  fights  back,  you  can  beat  him  into  sub- 
mission— if  your  arms  don't  give  out  on  you.  But  if  he 
won't  fight  back  and  just  takes  his  punishment,  he's  got 
you  licked  before  you  start." 

"That  boss  can  do  things  with  a  mule  in  a  minute  nobody 
else  could  do  in  a  year,"  testified  one  of  his  admirers. 

Or  perhaps  something  could  be  done  with  biology. 
Everybody  says  a  mule's  more  dangerous  than  slate  be- 
cause the  slate's  rattle  gives  warning.  It's  my  idea  that 
some  Luther  Burbank  might  so  use  serums  from  a  rattle- 
snake that  Mr.  Mule  would  rattle  before  he'd  kick! 

I  remember  being  told  by  a  lecturer  that  in  Ohio  a  re- 
turned soldier,  taken  back  onto  his  old  mine  job,  caused  a 
strike  because  he  didn't  get  his  same  old  mule  back.  It 
sounded  unreasonable — in  fact  it  was  told  to  prove  the 
worker's  unreasonableness.  The  miners  here  think  it 
sensible. 

"Why,  mebbe  he'd  trained  that  one  and  knew  all  about 
him,  and  didn't  know  none  of  the  other  mules  in  the  mine 


"STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"    101 

—even  then  it's  dangerous  work.  He  was  only  one  of  these 
here  safety-first  cranks." 

One  of  many  stories  about  the  highly  developed  mule 
brain  and  mule  self-respect  is  that  once  a  driver  was  so 
mad  that  he  planned  to  murder  the  beast.  So  he  purposely 
left  an  empty  car  at  the  bottom  of  a  grade  in  a  black  pas- 
sageway, and  then  drove  him  down  on  the  run  with  several 
heavy  cars  unbraked  behind  him.  Mr.  Long-Ears  merely 
vaulted  nicely  into  the  empty  car. 

This  afternoon — at  three  because  of  Saturday — six  of  us 
got  into  an  empty  car  down  at  the  parting  to  save  the 
mile  walk  to  the  "bottom."  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  beast. 
After  a  day's  abuse  from  his  driver,  he  had  to  gallop  almost 
the  whole  way  with  the  din  of  Bedlam  behind  him — calls 
and  shouts  to  him  in  six  languages  and  frightful  curses  in 
one  (American  curses  seem  always  to  get  the  most  action 
and  are  certainly  most  generally  used),  whistlings,  bangings 
of  powder-cans  on  his  flanks,  hammerings  of  six  dinner- 
pails  in  the  car.  And  he  had  to  keep  his  feet  and  head  as 
he  raced,  while  we  ate  the  dirt  thrown  up  by  his  hoofs  be- 
tween yells  and  swears. 

"Why  only  seven  car  to-day,  Joe?"  said  one  of  our  six 
to  another  as  we  came  to  the  "bottom." 

"If  I  take  all  d—  -  fool  coal  to-day,  no  can  work  next 
week,"  replied  Joe  with  a  twinkle. 

Last  night  I  had  a  talk  with  one  of  those  in  authority, 
a  fine  type  of  man. 

"Five  years  ago,"  he  said,  "you  could  have  got  a  room  in 
any  one  of  a  score  of  homes.  Now  they'd  rather  have  all 
four  rooms  than  the  money  you'd  pay  and  the  discomfort 
of  living  in  the  other  three.  It's  a  good  sign.  .  .  . 

"The  young  women  are  changing  fastest  of  all.  If  one 
of  'em  marries  a  bright  young  fellow  we're  sure  to  have 
them  ask  for  a  better  house.  If  we  can't  give  it,  or  if  they 
already  are  in  the  best  of  our  two  or  three  types  of  houses, 


102        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

we  soon  lose  them.  She  wants  to  'get  on' — move  into 
better  surroundings,  you  know,  'be  somebody' — and  he's 
her  chance.  One  reason  we  have  a  hard  time  keeping 
things  shipshape  in  the  mine  is  our  trouble  in  getting  or 
keeping  men  of  any  big  skill — they  can  do  better  elsewhere. 
Just  now  we've  got  good  company  houses  standing  idle, 
with  laborers  hi  worse  houses  beggin'  us  for  'em.  But  if 
we  fill  'em  up  with  those  men,  then  we  won't  have  any 
chance  at  all  of  gettin'  here  the  skilled  men  we're  after. 

"Of  course  you  understand  we  can't  sell  houses  here;  hi 
ten  years  more  or  so  we'll  have  the  seam  all  worked  out, 
and  then  there  won't  be  any  town  or  camp  any  more  here 
at  all.  Besides,  rent  is  so  low  that  selling  would  be  hard 
— and  the  unions  haven't  permitted  raises. 

"We  wish  we  could  have  better  houses — at  least  a  few 
to  begin  with — with  more  than  four  rooms,  a  cellar  to  keep 
things  in,  and  a  shanty  for  a  cow  with  free  pasturage  on 
the  hills.  Also  a  wash-shanty  at  each  pit  where  the  men 
could  leave  their  work  clothes  to  dry  while  they  take  a 
shower,  put  on  good  clothes  before  they  walk  home  through 
the  rain  or  snow — though  they  do  say  in  some  places  where 
they  have  these,  some  of  the  men  are  awful  slow  in  usin' 
'em."  ("Them  that's  slow  in  usin'  'em  in  our  part  of  the 
country  we  duck — till  they  learn  better,"  said  one  of  my 
five  roommates  later.) 

He  confirms  the  statement  that  there  is  a  tradition  among 
miners  that  it  is  dangerous  to  wash  their  backs.  Some  men 
are  said  to  have  alligator-like  collections  of  years  of  sweat 
and  coal-dust  between  their  shoulders.  But,  personally, 
as  long  as  they  live  hi  towns  entirely  guiltless  of  bathtub 
or  faucet,  I  don't  see  how  they  could  do  otherwise  than  get 
as  much  off  as  they  can  reach — and  save  their  self-respect 
by  inventing  the  tradition  to  excuse  the  rest. 

"The  unions  are  talkin'  about  demanding  a  five-day 
week.  We'd  be  tickled  to  get  them  to  work  an  average  of 
five  days.  Most  of  'em  work  about  three  now." 


" STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"     103 

He  said  he  had  once  tried  to  break  away  from  mining 
and  was  in  the  labor  gang  of  a  big  steel-plant.  But  after 
his  years  of  the  miner's  fast-work-short-loaf,  he  couldn't 
stand  the  footlessness  of  "Nothing  to  do  most  of  the  time, 
yet  orders  against  sitting  down.  Thirteen  men  were  assigned 
to  move  a  tank.  Two  of  us  handled  it  easily.  It  was  too 
bad  to  kill  time  that  way,  so  it  was  'back  to  the  mines' 
for  me — and  for  life,  I  guess." 

"Granny"  and  I  have  not  been  on  good  terms  since  I 
objected  to  Jack  and  his  "tonsils"  as  bedfellows.  Besides 
all  the  things  described  there  are  too  many  that  cannot  be 
mentioned.  So  I'm  packing  up  and  leaving  in  a  few 
minutes.  Sorry,  because  I  do  like  it  "inside." 

Later : 

One  of  my  roommates  is  hardly  a  Bolshevik  but  he  is 
unhappy.  An  American  he  is,  one  who  has  followed  the 
mines  in  many  fields,  and  for  many  years,  and  is  still  a 
wanderer: 

"This  State  is  the  worst  of  all.  They  don't  do  nothin'  for 
a  laborin'  man  except  get  all  the  work  they  can  outa  him. 
.  .  .  Where  the  work's  less  steady  than  'tis  here,  of  course 
the  miners  can't  pay  for  your  faucets  and  sidewalks  and 
such  like.  But  they  needn't  make  such  a  fuss  about  us! 
Durin'  the  war  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  a  shovel  of  slate 
put  into  the  cars  for  every  shovel  of  coal — for  the  govern- 
ment, mind  you.  'Twas  by  the  owner's  orders,  too !  And 
then  if  we  rested  a  day  they  called  us  slackers.  Huh !" 

Steelville,  again, 
Sunday,  May  fourth. 

I  beg  Providence's  pardon  for  assuming  so  calmly  that  I 
had  closed  the  chapter  on  "Life  in  a  Coal  Camp"  when  I 
wrote  the  "Later"  on  yesterday's  notes.  All  the  time 
Fate  was  waiting  for  me  around  the  corner — or  at  least 


104        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

down-stairs !  I  certainly  never  was  so  surprised  in  my  life 
as  by  what  she  handed  me — with  the  help  of  one  of  her 
handmaidens. 

When  I  arrived  down  in  the  kitchen  with  my  baggage  I 
found  Jack  taking  his  bath,  so  I  called  through  the  door 
into  the  parlor  to  Granny  to  ask  if  she  had  the  dollar  I 
figured  was  coming  to  me. 

When  she  answered  "No"  very  nastily  I  thought  I  would 
dispose  of  the  matter  in  the  normal  mine-camp  manner. 
In  view  of  her  week  of  meanness  and  mine  of  discomfort, 
and  considering  the  profane  habits  of  the  town  generally, 
it  seemed  the  proper  thing  to  let  the  matter  drop  and  then 
grant  my  permission  for  all  of  them  to  go  where  the  tem- 
perature is  reported  as  unvarying  though  less  comfortable 
than  hi  the  mine.  According  to  everything  I'd  seen  and 
heard  in  the  camp  and  in  our  little  "club,"  she  would  coun- 
ter with  a  stronger  line  of  directions  for  me,  and  the  incident 
would  then  be  considered  closed — with  everybody  justified 
and  satisfied.  That  seemed  to  me  the  mine-town  formula. 

But  there's  a  catch  somewhere  in  that  formula — judging 
from  what  happened. 

Daughter,  the  mother  of  the  children,  shouted  something 
to  Jack,  who  jumped  quickly  into  his  trousers  but  refused 
to  open  the  door  for  me  till  daughter  got  out  the  front  door 
and  around  onto  the  back  porch.  As  I  started  out,  suit- 
case in  one  hand,  sweater  and  dinner-pail  in  the  other,  she 
rushed  at  me  screaming: 

"You'll  tell  my  mother  to  go  to  h ,  will  you?  I'll 

learn  ye!  -  -  ye!" 

Before  I  had  any  idea  of  it  all,  she  drew  off  and  delivered 
a  magnificent  blow  that  drew  blood  on  my  cheek-bone ! 

Unfortunately,  one  of  the  things  I'd  never  learned  at  col- 
lege was  what  to  do  when  a  lady  assaults  you.  So  I  was 
greatly  puzzled,  but  did  manage  to  push  her  off.  When 
she  returned  like  a  wild-cat,  I  used  an  uppercut  of  my 


'< STEEL  STILL  SLOW— MINERS  WANTED"     105 

dinner-bucket  to  keep  her  at  safe  distance.  Then  I  grabbed 
the  suitcase  she  tried  to  pick  up  and,  fearful  of  missing 
my  taxi-bus,  started  backward  through  the  yard.  By  this 
time  the  neighbors  had  all  gathered  on  all  the  back  porches. 
With  a  large  lump  of  coal  in  her  hand  she  pursued.  Luckily 
bottles  were  everywhere,  and  one  of  them  I  picked  up  long 
enough  to  counsel  caution  with  her  coal  while  she  continued 
to  scream  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  as  face  to  face  we  backed 
off  across  the  lot. 

"You  tell  her  that  again!  You  tell  her  that  again  and 
I'll  show  ye,  you  -  !" 

Finally  she  stopped  and  put  all  her  strength  into  the 
most  compound  and  most  foul  assortment  of  names  con- 
ceivable— and  the  war  was  ended.  The  neighbors  in  the 
bleachers  were  evidently  disappointed  to  see  no  further 
action  or  casualties,  but  I  was  glad  to  get  my  waiting  bus 
— and  to  bid  the  place  a  long  good-by. 

I'm  not  at  all  sure  I  conducted  myself  with  proper  vigor, 
though  I  hardly  know  what  I  could  have  done  without 
hitting  back.  I  certainly  am  sorry  to  have  hurt  the  old 
lady's  or  her  temperamental  daughter's  feelings.  Still,  I 
guess  that  for  a  chap  whose  pet  idea  is  that  what  makes 
the  wheels  of  all  of  us  go  'round  is  the  desire  for  a  satisfy- 
ing sense  of  our  own  individual  worthwhileness,  and  that 
the  cause  of  practically  all  friction  between  people,  and 
especially  between  people  of  different  groups  and  statuses, 
where  it  is  so  easy  to  misunderstand  " formulas,"  is  to  be 
found  in  offended  or  obstructed  self-respect,  injured  pride, 
and  hurt  feelings — I  say  I  guess  that  for  such  a  chap  the 
demonstration  was  worth  its  cost  in  blood  and  gore.  And 
to  think  it  happened  just  after  I  had  been  advised  by 
Mac  that  "  Civility  is  a  better  protection  to  the  head  than 
a  steel  helmet" ! 


CHAPTER  V 
A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN 

RETURNING  to  "base"  in  Steelville,  the  search  for  work 
in  steel  was  renewed.  Again  nothing  but  disappointment. 
" We're  laying  'em  off  instead  of  takin'  'em  on,"  or  "I'd  be 
glad  to  take  ye  into  him,  y'  understand,  but  the  boss  jist 
told  me  he  don't  need  no  more  men  and  not  to  bother  him. 
.  .  .  Next  week?  Well,  if  I  was  you  I'd  try.  .  .  .  Use 
the  phone  to  save  the  fare?  Well,  I  dunno;  you'd  better 
come  yerself." 

By  chance  1  happened  to  drop  in  on  a  federal  coal  expert 
with  an  assortment  of  questions  run  onto  by  my  pick  and 
shovel.  He  expressed  the  belief  that  I  should  try  life  in  a 
coal  town  widely  noted  for  its  attention  to  the  needs  of  the 
miners  and  their  families. 

Coaldale, 

Sunday,  May  eleventh. 

As  the  mine  is  working  only  four  days  a  week,  I  was  told 
to  report  Tuesday  morning — and  referred  for  board  and 
room  to  this  place,  where  I  am  writing  on  the  kitchen  table. 
I  must  say  it  is  a  lot  better  than  "Bitumenburg."  Another 
miner  and  I  have  a  large  room,  and — luxury! — sleep  in 
separate  beds.  The  landlady  is  a  terror  for  work  and  also, 
thank  heaven,  for  something  like  cleanliness. 

"We've  been  wantin'  a  better  house  and  askin'  and  askin' 
the  company  fer  it  fer  years.  This  gives  us  the  room  we 
want,  but  we  couldn't  have  it  without  takin'  boarders.  .  .  . 
We've  just  got  in — I've  been  sick  and  my  husband  he's 
been  sick.  You  never  saw  such  a  place  as  them  foreigners 

106 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  107 

that  was  here  left  it !  ...  Such  a  stack  of  beer  kegs  and 
whiskey  bottles  and  filth ! — it  almost  makes  me  sick  now  to 
think  of  it,  and  the  way  we've  worked  to  clean  it  up  with 
chloride  and  all." 

There's  a  library  and  a  parlor — with  a  $150  talking- 
machine,  as  usual — and  a  dining-room.  All  very  nice  ex- 
cept for  an  occasional  odor  in  memory  of  the  former  occu- 
pants. 

The  lady  of  the  house  looked  positively  young  and  pretty 
this  morning  with  a  special  Sunday  "do"  on  her  hair.  So 
you  can  see  she's  an  exceptional  woman,  for: 

"  Yes,  we  got  these  four  boys  and  we've  adopted  the  little 
girl  till  she's  twenty-one.  The  boys  are  all  we  got  left  out 
of  fifteen  children!  The  other  eleven  we  lost  one  way  or 
'nother — and  they  was  mignty  nice  children,  too.  .  .  .  And 
now  the  doctor  tells  me  my  husband  can't  live — though  he 
don't  know  it  hisself.  .  .  .  Cancer." 

The  husband  makes  himself  handy  around  the  house 
while,  with  plenty  of  optimism,  he  gets  stronger  from  his 
recent  appendicitis  operation.  Altogether  they  enjoy  a  lot 
of  happiness,  one  boy  of  seventeen  " trapping"  at  certain 
switches  and  doors  in  the  mine  at  three  dollars,  and  the 
other  of  nineteen  or  so  working  in  the  company  store,  the 
proud  owner  of  a  flivver — to  say  nothing  of  a  pompadour, 
a  handsome  face,  and  ambition. 

Even  the  conversation  here  is  a  course  in  mine  practice. 

"I  ain't  been  sick  a  day  in  my  life  till  now,"  says  hus- 
band. "And  fer  the  last  few  years  I  been  workin'  every 
day  and  double  turn  every  second  Sunday.  Ye  see,  I  got 
ter  keep  after  them  pumps — maybe  whin  I  get  ter  one,  it's 
kickin'  like,  ye  understand,  and  by  the  time  I  gits  it  fixed 
I  got  ter  walk  fast  to  git  ter  the  others. 

"A  few  years  back  one  o'  the  boys  reported  the  mine 
where  I  wuz  then  was  beginnin'  ter  'squeeze.'  The  super 
comes  and  'e  gits  a  hundred  men  to  go  down  and  fix  tun- 


108        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

bers  to  stop  it.  But  instead  o'  startin'  in  near  the  shaft— 
at  the  bottom,  y'  understand — and  a-workin'  back,  'e  takes 
'em  to  the  fur  end  of  the  mine.  And  the  '  squeeze '  it  keeps 
a-gettin'  worse  and  finally  it  falls  in  and  kills  'em  all.  My 
God,  it  was  awful  in  the  town  that  night." 

"Yis-sor,  I  wuz  over  at  B  shortly  after  the  explosion 
there  and  volunteered  to  go  down  in  the  dinky  bucket 
they'd  rigged  up.  My  God  Almighty!  I  seen  sights  I 
never  seen  before.  There  on  the  bottom  was  fifteen  or  so 
men  lying  natural-like  in  their  clothes.  And  when  you'd 
go  over  and  touch  their  clothing — phew !  It  would  all  fall 
to  pieces  and  blow  up  and  fly  away !  And  there  'ud  be  the 
body  all  burnt  to  a  black  crisp !  I  give  ye  my  word — 'twas 
the  awfullest  o'  sights  ever  I  see." 

Between  his  twenty  and  the  boarder's  sixteen  years  of 
mining  I  guess  I've  heard  the  complete,  ghastly  details  of 
almost  every  mine  disaster  in  the  State.  But  if  they  don't 
mind  it,  neither  do  I,  for  I'll  have  only  a  short  time  of  it. 
Besides,  these  electric  safety-lamps  and  the  strict  prohibi- 
tion against  taking  matches  into  the  mine,  together  with 
the  State's  constantly  closer  supervision,  make  the  work 
safer  each  year.  Also,  I  learn  with  pleasure  that  there 
are  no  mules  in  this  mine. 

A  Sunday  in  a  small  town  in  this  State  is  a  desert  of 
do-nothingness.  Those  hardy  defendants  of  a  certain  de- 
nomination who  are  said  to  represent  the  minority  which 
controls  the  State  because  of  their  manifest  respectability, 
seem  to  get  dreadfully  "het  up"  about  the  possibility  of  a 
modern  Sunday  with  movies.  In  the  meantime  they  close 
their  eyes  to  the  all-day  sessions  in  the  licensed  clubs  of  the 
Owls,  the  Bears,  Eagles,  etc.,  and  in  the  boarding-houses 
of  the  foreigners,  also  to  the  crap  games  and  drinking  feasts 
on  the  hills  near  the  towns.  It  certainly  appears  from  the 
view-point  of  the  car-window  that  many  citizens  are  also 
little  troubled  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  people  who 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  109 

live  in  manifestly  shameful  conditions,  or  by  the  tens  of 
thousands  who  work  thirteen  and  a  half  or  fourteen  turns 
of  ten  and  twelve  hours  every  fourteen  days  in  the  steel- 
plants. 

The  Slavic  boarders  under  the  same  roof  with  us — it's 
a  big  double  house — don't  seem  to  feel  badly  about  Sunday, 
judging  from  the  noise  through  the  nailed-up  door.  There 
will  probably  be  another  one  added  in  the  morning  to  the 
pile  of  kegs  already  in  our  common  back  yard. 

Last  week  I  happened  to  be  waited  on  by  "Gertie" 
again.  She  has  left  the  first  restaurant,  mainly  because 
they  wouldn't  give  her  the  same  tables  constantly,  so  that 
her  friends  could  always  have  her  service  and  so  give  her 
the  tips  of  friends,  not  of  strangers.  She  says  it  makes  a 
difference  of  a  dollar  a  day.  She  is  much  distressed.  Hus- 
band comes  home  from  France  this  week.  She's  sure  she 
doesn't  love  him,  though  I  urged  her  to  give  him  a  chance 
before  she  does  anything  final.  "He  may  have  changed 
just  as  much  as  you  have." 

But  her  "Sweet  Potato"  gave  her  a  sleepless  night.  He 
confesses  to  having  a  wife  and  two  children !  As  soon  as 
he  can  get  the  children  and  a  separation  he  wants  to  marry 
her — and  she  him.  But  the  thought  of  his  silence  on  this 
detail  and  of  all  the  delay  it  means  is  the  biggest  shock  of 
her  life  to  date. 

Naturally  I  asked  her  if  he  knew  that  she  was  also  married. 
She  gave  a  quick  gasp: 

"My  Gawd,  no!" 

Coaldale, 
May  14. 

I  certainly  am  glad  to  have  proceeded  at  least  this  much 
farther  with  my  education  as  a  coal-miner. 

This  mine  is  about  five  times  as  big  as  the  other;  it  covers 
over  3,000  acres  and  is  worked  by  over  400  men  every  day. 
It  is  also  nearly  200  feet  lower  down — as  I  realized  more  in 


110        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

my  stomach  than  anywhere  else  yesterday  morning  when 
the  engineer  shot  the  cage  down  the  shaft  at  terrific  speed. 

It  was  like  coming  into  a  great  union  depot  to  get  out  on 
the  bottom.  The  place  was  brilliantly  lighted,  thoroughly 
bricked  and  whitewashed,  and  covered  with  a  perfect  net- 
work of  tracks  and  passageways,  surrounded  with  little 
office  and  supply  rooms  or  shanties,  all  filled  with  miners 
and  motor-men  and  bosses.  I  climbed  into  one  of  the  little 
coal  cars  with  five  or  six  others,  and,  sure  enough,  it  soon 
started  off  with  about  fifteen  other  cars  all  filled  with  work- 
ers. So  we  went  by  tram  to  our  locations !  Two  or  three 
other  such  trains,  or  "man  trips,"  left  after  we  did,  for  other 
sections. 

Something  over  a  mile  down  the  lighted  butt  or  main 
passageway,  we  got  out  at  the  car-like  shanty  office  of  the 
boss  of  that  section.  Here  I  was  assigned  to  "Steve,"  a 
good-natured-looking  Croat,  and  told  to  go  and  put  up  a 
"swing-door."  I  hadn't  the  ghost  of  an  idea  what  such  a 
door  might  be,  but  the  boss  seemed  to  think  he'd  insult 
anybody  who  was  assigned  as  I  was  to  "timbering"  by  tell- 
ing him  about  it.  So  I  let  it  go  at  that.  The  trouble  was 
that  my  "Steve"  didn't  know  much  more  about  it  than  I 
did,  and  perpetrated  an  immense  amount  of  profanity  in 
trying  to  solve  the  problem.  But  we  remembered  all  we 
could  of  the  directions,  and  contrived  to  make  enough 
progress  by  the  tune  some  kind  of  a  worker  or  boss  would 
come  along  and  give  us  instructions  for  the  next  move.  It 
seems  that  a  swing-door  is  so  hung  that  when  opened  by 
workers  or  the  motor-trams  it  always  swings  back  exactly 
across  the  passage  in  such  a  way  as  to  stay  there  and  stop 
the  air  current  without  fastening.  We  finally  got  it  to  be- 
have fairly  well  by  making  the  bottom  hook  or  hanger 
longer  than  the  top  one,  though  the  strong  current  would 
persist  in  pushing  it  somewhat  past  the  proper  spot. 

I  did  a  lot  of  hammering  and  sawing  and  lifting  and 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  111 

talking  (in  the  "no  got"  and  "no  can"  style  of  English) 
with  Steve,  who  had  been  hi  this  same  mine  about  thirteen 
years.  It  is  plain  to  see  that  it  is  a  well-run  mine.  In 
place  of  the  mules  the  motor  goes  up  to  the  entries,  and  then 
the  "snapper"  carries  in  a  cable  and  attaches  it  to  the 
loaded  car  so  that  the  motor-man  can  snake  it  out  by  the 
power  of  his  "crab"  or  winder.  They  then  skite  off  to  the 
next  place,  leaving  empties  for  the  loaders  or  diggers  to 
push  in  up  to  the  face  of  the  coal  in  the  rooms  where  they 
are  working.  The  pair  work  fast  and  certainly  look  more 
reliable  than  the  mule-drivers — perhaps  because  getting 
action  continuously  out  of  a  mule  in  a  mine  is,  I  am  sure, 
a  bigger  strain  on  moral  and  physical  fibre  than  most  men 
can  stand  and  still  be  dependable  workers. 

Of  course  we  took  the  "man- trip"  when  the  day's  job 
was  done  back  to  the  bottom.  Then  we  got  into  a  long 
line  of  miners  standing  hi  a  narrow  passageway  and  grad- 
ually moved  up  until  our  turn  came  to  be  counted  in  the 
ten  to  be  sent  up  by  the  "eager"  after  the  required  niter- 
change  of  signals  with  the  engineer  above. 

To-day  I  was  assigned  to  an  Italian  carpenter  or  "brat- 
ticer,"  who  has  been  here  over  eighteen  years.  We  had  to 
shoulder  our  tools  and  walk  well  over  a  mile  to  fix  a  door 
that  was  letting  too  much  air  leak  through  it,  and  then 
we  walked  on  to  cut  away  slate  and  coal  preparatory  to 
erecting  a  new  frame  and  door  at  another  point.  My  body 
tells  me  it  was  a  mighty  busy  day  for  most  of  my  muscles 
— and  I  guess  I  never  before  got  such  a  complexion  of  coal 
dust  and  sweat.  The  wonder  is  the  way  these  day-workers, 
away  off  by  themselves,  keep  at  the  job  all  day  with  enor- 
mously less  loafing  than  we  used  to  contrive  to  do  in  the 
steel-mills  with  the  foreman's  eye  right  on  us.  They  must 
get  the  habit  from  their  experience  as  loaders  and  diggers 
when  they  are  working  strictly  for  themselves.  And  then, 
too,  there's  a  lot  more  satisfaction  in  doing  a  job  your  own 


112        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

way  for  later  inspection  than  to  have  a  foreman  swear  at 
you  every  time  you  make  a  false  move. 

Living  quite  comfortably.  Every  room  and  house  has 
electric  lights — unmetred,  so  that  they  run  day  and  night 
— and  water  running  at  a  faucet  in  the  kitchen  or  just  out- 
side. (For  all  this  the  company  charges  only  eight  dollars 
for  a  four-room  house,  and  all  the  workers  seem  to  think  it 
very  reasonable.)  Our  "club"  towel  here  is  a  very  special 
affair. 

"Now  you  kids,"  the  landlady  declared  to-day,  "if  I 
catch  you  usin'  that  there  roller-towel,  there'll  be  trouble 
'round  here !  That  there  towel's  for  the  boarders,  and  don't 
forget  it!" 

Seeing  that  two  Mikes  are  the  only  other  boarders,  that 
makes  it  a  highly  exclusive  arrangement — compared  to 
some  I've  known  recently. 

After  work  the  young  "trapper"  son  and  I  go  down 
cellar  with  the  wash-tub  and  the  hot  teakettle  and  contrive 
to  get  fairly  clean.  That's  better  than  doing  it  hi  the 
kitchen  while  everybody's  eating  supper.  But  I  feel  like 
telling  that  citizen  who  has  any  sort  of  a  bathtub  in  his 
home.  If  so,  he  ought  not  to  complain  of  anything. 

Coaldale, 
May  15. 

Now  that  I'm  assistant  bratticer,  or  door-fixer  and  car- 
penter, I  can't  ride  in  the  "man-trip"  any  more,  because 
I  have  to  help  inspect  every  door  we  meet  and  fix  it  on  the 
spot  if  it's  letting  too  much  air  through.  That's  the  reason 
for  tired  legs,  and  also  a  sore  head  and  neck  following  a 
ferocious  bump  received  from  taking  off  my  cap  with  its 
lamp,  and  so  failing  to  see  a  projecting  beam. 

This  matter  of  doors  and  air  seems  to  be  mighty  important 
in  a  mine.  To-day  at  the  noon-hour  my  chief  showed  me 
where  both  gas  and  water  were  coming  out  through  the  coal 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  113 

at  the  face  of  the  seam  as  the  digger  worked  at  it.  Pipes 
are  laid  for  the  pump  to  carry  away  the  water.  The  prob- 
lem of  the  gas  is  up  to  us  bratticers,  working,  of  course, 
under  the  fire-boss  and  others.  By  means  of  the  doors  in 
the  main  passages  the  air  is  made  to  go  'round  through  the 
smaller  passageways  or  entries,  and  then  to  pass  into  the 
various  rooms,  one  after  another,  by  means  of  the  "break- 
throughs," or  openings,  which  connect  them  close  to  the 
face.  In  some  places  thick  canvas  has  to  be  stretched  like 
a  veritable  stockade  in  such  a  way  that  it  conducts  the  air 
right  up  to  the  face,  where  it  gathers  up  the  gas  and  hurries 
it  away. 

"Gas  at  the  face  don't  do  no  harm  provided  it  don't  stay 
there." 

Now  if  these  doors  that  are  supposed  to  stop  the  air  and 
make  it  go  another  way  let  a  lot  of  it  pass,  it's  just  like  a 
short  circuit  of  electricity — there's  just  that  much  less  to 
go  where  it  should.  And  that's  a  serious  business — with  a 
certain  mine  and  its  famous  explosion  not  many  miles  away. 

To-day  along  came  an  inspector  and  held  up  his  little 
anemometer  in  one  hand  and  his  watch  in  another: 

"That's  all  right— 135  revolutions  tunes  60.  That's 
8,100  cubic  feet  of  air  a-goin'  through  here  every  minute.  .  .  . 
Did  you  ever  know  that  there  are  more  pounds  of  air 
a-comin'  into  a  mine  every  day  than  there  is  pounds  of 
coal  a-goin'  out  of  it?  Well,  it's  true.  A  cubic  foot  of 
coal,  you  understand,  weighs  about  70  tunes  as  much  as  a 
cubic  foot  of  air.  Now  the  fans  drive  into  the  mine  200,000 
cubic  feet  of  air  every  blessed  minute  of  the  twenty-four 
hours  every  day  in  the  year — figure  it  out  for  yourself.  .  .  . 
Did  you  ever  stop  to  think,  too,  that  in  winter  the  air  it- 
self carries  out  more  tons  of  water  than  all  the  motors  do 
of  coal?  You  see,  the  mine  is  warmer  than  the  outdoors, 
so  that  it  heats  the  air  as  it  comes  in,  and  that  makes  the 
air  pick  up  water  and  carry  it  out.  And  by  the  same 


114        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

token  it  brings  it  in  during  the  summer,  when  the  cooler 
air  in  the  mine  makes  it  stick  on  the  mine  roof  in  the  drops 
you  see." 

Up  in  the  main  butts  the  air  current  is  so  strong  that  the 
big  doors  cannot  be  opened  by  the  " trappers"  to  let  the 
motors  or  the  men  pass  unless  they  are  made  in  a  "V" 
shape,  which  requires  only  a  half  swing  against  the  pressure. 

As  we  worked  all  day  to  fix  a  regular  and  an  emergency 
door,  we  felt  that  we  were  probably  making  life  safer  for 
all  our  other  fellow-workers.  Nearly  everybody  hi  the 
mines  seem  to  have  this  idea  of  hang  together  or  hang  sepa- 
rately— or  rather,  play  safe  together  or  be  blown  up  to- 
gether. No  digger  here  is  allowed  to  endanger  himself 
or  his  companions  by  the  firing  of  his  explosive.  A  "shot- 
firer"  makes  the  rounds  of  each  section,  inspects  the  drilled 
hole,  sees  to  its  proper  cleaning  and  charging,  and  then  with 
his  battery  sets  it  off  in  safety  with  a  powder  which  goes  off 
with  too  much  speed  to  ignite  any  possible  gas. 

Then,  too,  the  daily  output  of  coal  depends  on  every- 
body's team-work.  The  loader  must  wait  until  the  machine- 
cutters  have  undercut  the  face,  and  the  shot-firer  has  made 
the  coal  cliff  tumble  to  the  floor.  Then  he  must  depend  on 
the  motor-man  and  his  snapper  to  get  the  cars  to  him  with- 
out his  having  to  wait  and  loaf.  Or  if  he's  a  "pick-man" 
he  must  have  the  help  of  the  timber-man  to  make  the  place 
safe  up  to  the  last  minute.  It  seems  that  a  pick-mar  is 
one  who  gets  his  coal  by  taking  out  the  "ribs"  and  "pillars" 
of  coal  which  separate  the  different  rooms  and  where  the 
weight  of  the  roof,  after  the  rooms  have  been  worked  out, 
is  such  that  the  machine-cutter  and  explosives  cannot  be 
used;  the  coal  would  just  sag  down  right  onto  the  machine 
and  the  powder  might  bring  the  whole  thing  down !  Even 
after  the  pick-men  have  worked  wherever  possible,  it  is  the 
exceptional  mine,  I'm  told,  that  does  not  find  it  cheaper  to 
leave  forty  per  cent  of  the  coal  still  there  rather  than  try 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  115 

to  get  it  out,  after  meeting  all  the  safety  and  other  regula- 
tions. 

Perhaps  this  combined  life-and-limb  and  dollars-and- 
cents  necessity  of  team-work  is  accountable  for  the  very 
good  baseball  game  I  saw  to-night  after  supper.  The  other 
team  came  from  the  city,  but  was  cleaned  up  by  the  mine 
boys  hi  their  handsome  suits  to  the  very  high-class  tune  of 
two  to  one.  The  mine  band  also  did  some  artistic  work 
between  innings.  Such  things  do  a  lot  of  good  where  the 
work  is  only  eight  hours,  and  so  leaves  a  lot  of  daylight 
between  four  and  nine  o'clock.  If  I  can  judge  from  the 
line  of  conversation  of  the  boys,  they  are  also  big  factors 
hi  improving  the  town's  morals.  Of  course,  good  living 
conditions  share  with  athletics  in  the  credit  for  this.  Also 
the  reported  disapproval  of  the  higher-ups  as  shown  by  the 
occasional  discharge  of  underofficials  who  become  careless 
of  their  personal  standing  and  influence. 

I've  been  waiting  to  be  invited  to  join  the  union — so  far 
in  vain.  It  costs  about  eighty  cents  a  month,  besides  a 
ten-dollar  initiation  fee,  all  subtracted  from  your  pay  by 
the  company. 

T  hear  there  was  union  discussion  last  night  about  striking 
because  some  of  the  socialistically  inclined  Russians  were 
discharged,  but  the  Americans  prevailed.  The  workers 
seem  to  be,  for  the  most  part,  very  happy,  their  most  serious 
trouble  being  that  the  slump  in  the  steel  business  permits 
working  the  mines  only  three  or  four  days  a  week. 

" Where  you  work  before  you  come  here?"  they  all  ask, 
whether  down  "inside"  or  above  ground.  "Ah ! . . .  Work 

steady  dere  ?  .  .  .  Seex  day  ?  My  G !  For  why  you 

queet  dere  coom  here — work  tree,  four  day  week,  huh? 
Five  day — all  right,  fine;  tree  day — no  can  live." 

I  have  to  do  some  quick  thinking  to  explain  so  unreason- 
able an  action.  Apparently  the  bane  of  the  mines  is  this 
irregularity  of  operation.  That  seems  to  be  due  mainly 


116       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

to  the  generally  accepted  impossibility  of  storing  the  coal 
at  mine  mouth — with,  therefore,  the  necessity  of  stopping 
work  the  minute  that  either  orders  or  cars  run  out.  With 
comparatively  few  of  the  large  customers  doing  much  stor- 
age— they  say  that,  roughly,  one-third  of  all  coal  goes  to 
the  railroads,  another  third  to  the  public  utilities  and  the 
biggest  industries,  while  of  the  final  third  only  about  a 
fourth  goes  to  the  domestic  or  household  users ! — the  result 
is  a  markedly  seasonal  demand  which  piles  up  in  such  shape 
as  to  make  a  peak  demand  on  the  railways  for  cars  which 
they  cannot  meet — with,  accordingly,  an  idle  mine  resulting. 

Many  of  the  men  seem  to  earn  well  over  ten  dollars  a 
day,  and  a  number  load  enough  to  get  over  twelve  dollars, 
day  after  day,  when  they  do  work. 

I  asked  a  girl  at  the  company  store  why  all  don't  live 
better  when  they  can  earn  such  money.  Both  her  parents 
are  Russians,  and  she  speaks  several  Slavic  tongues — a 
bright,  well-Americanized  young  lady. 

"Why,  you  see,  all  those  Slavic  people — Russians,  Poles, 
Croats,  etc. — they  all  expect  to  go  back  to  the  old  country 
some  day,  buy  a  nice  little  farm  and  take  it  easy.  They 
don't  really  like  this  country  unless  they  came  here  young, 
but  they  can  make  good  money  here.  So  they  won't  pay 
rent  for  a  good  house,  and  they  make  all  the  children  go  to 
work  early — while  they  put  the  money  in  the  bank  for  that 
little  farm.  That's  what  I  hear  'ein  all  talking  about  all 
the  tune.  .  .  .  Oh,  those  Russians  that  were  arrested  here 
yesterday  as  Bolshevists?  Why,  they'd  go  back  peacefully 
to  Russia  and  help  their  friends,  only  they  believe  that  the 
government  here  will  keep  all  their  money,  and  it's  their 
money  they  want  to  take  over  to  help  the  cause.  See?" 

I  understand  passports  are  not  being  given  to  anybody 
to  go  back  to  Russia.  I  guess  she's  right  about  the  older 
Slavic  people.  But  when  I  asked  a  young  chap  I  know 
if  he  was  going  back,  I  got  very  quickly  his  energetic  "No! 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  117 

For  why?"  One  Russian  was  pointed  out  as  having  on 
deposit  in  the  local  savings-bank  an  account  of  $18,000 ! 

It  certainly  looks  like  an  enormous  job  to  straighten  out  all 
the  kinks  in  a  population  like  this.  .  .  .  "No,  you  can't  get 
any  of  these  older  people  from  Europe  to  learn  English — 
only  the  young  will  do  it."  Misunderstandings  and  dis- 
trust are  easy  enough,  goodness  knows,  even  among  well- 
understanding  friends.  To  my  surprise  to-day  a  man  who 
has  been  in  this  one  mine  over  fifteen  years  said: 

"Too  many  robbers  in  dees  country.  .  .  .  Alia  time 
steal.  Man  work  to-day  where  alia  time  'squeeze'  break 
up  floor  or  roof — he  stay  alive  all  right  and  come  outside, 
and  den  some  robber  with  gun  take  away  all  monee  he 
get.  ...  In  olda  time  coal  weigh  good;  so  gooda  man 
maka  da  gooda  monee.  Now  coal  no  weigha  good.  .  .  . 
Check- weighman  ?  Yes,  he  paid  by  a  da  union,  but  pocket 
always  open  for  company  and  he  forget  hees  buddies. 
Only  one  good  check-weighman  in  hundred." 

It  certainly  is  too  bad  that  a  company  which  does  so 
many  fine  big  things  should  be  thought — especially  by  an 
old  employee — thus  guilty  of  dishonesty.  But  I  guess 
such  distrust  is  general  in  industry — and  generally  because 
there  isn't  enough  effort  to  establish  mutual  respect  and 
confidence  by  each  finding  out  what  the  other  fellow's  got 
in  his  head  and  heart. 

Seeing  the  Russians  go  off  with  the  federal  officers  yes- 
terday reminds  me  of  that  Bolshevist  Socialist  meeting  I 
attended  in  Steel ville,  celebrating  "Debs  Day."  The 
woman  who  had  presided  at  the  Canton  meeting  where 
Debs  made  the  speech  for  which  he  was  imprisoned,  was 
cheered  when  she  said  "People  look  now  for  peace  not  to 
Paris  but  to  Moscow!"  and  "If  the  peace  commissioners 
don't  hurry,  the  Bolshevists  won't  give  'em  their  passports 
to  come  back  here."  Another  said,  "Just  think,  if  Debs 
were  free  he'd  talk  to-day  at  one  meeting.  Now  that  our 


118       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

enemies  have  been  good  enough  to  put  him  in  jail,  his  ideas 
and  ideals  are  being  proclaimed  to-day  at  5,000  meetings 
like  this."  It  was  a  bigger  and  livelier  meeting  than  the 
first  attended,  but  seemed  to  me  unlikely  to  make  much 
trouble. 

Coaldale, 
May  16. 

Maybe  some  day  I'll  want  to  be  a  miner  again,  but  if  I 
do  I'll  have  to  break  a  vow  I  made  several  tunes  to-day— 
that  if  the  Lord  would  get  me  out  alive  I  wouldn't  bother 
him  again  to  look  after  me  any  more  in  a  coal-mine ! 

Was  assigned  to  a  stalwart,  black-mustached  timber- 
man,  named  John.  First  we  fixed  up  a  temporary  canvas 
stop  where  a  brick  wall  is  being  built,  so  as  to  save  the 
need  of  sending  any  more  air  through  a  portion  of  the 
mine  which  has  now  been  worked  out.  Then  we  went  into 
an  entry  where  three  pick-men  were  taking  out  the  ribs 
and  pillars — and  where  the  floor  was  squeezing  up  so  en- 
thusiastically for  a  get-together  party  with  the  roof  that 
there  was  hardly  an  unbroken  timber  in  the  place. 

Our  job  was  merely  to  take  down  the  broken  ones  and 
put  up  good  ones!  As  I  stood  under  a  particularly  nasty 
piece  of  roof  I  cast  my  eye  down  past  two  or  three  broken 
upright  posts  till  finally  I  saw  a  pair  of  good  ones — and 
made  a  mental  note  to  make  a  break  to  their  protection 
if  anything  started  to  fall.  Then  to  my  huge  dismay  I 
saw  that  the  reason  that  the  uprights  were  good  was  that 
the  cross-bar  holding  the  roof  was  itself  split  and  U-shaped. 

Of  course  I  tried  to  reason  with  myself  that  my  buddy 
wasn't  worrying  and  he'd  been  doing  this  work  for  ten 
years.  But  I  didn't  make  a  great  hit  with  myself,  I  will 
say.  And  was  partly  right,  too.  For,  at  one  time 
I  protested  to  John  that  some  top-coal  was  loose.  A 
stroke  or  two  of  the  pick  failed  to  loosen  it,  but  on  my 
further  protest,  a  third  blow  brought  down  about  five  tons 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  119 

of  it!  I  thought  still  more  should  be  got  down  before  I 
worked  under  it,  but  he  assured  me  laughingly  of  its  com- 
plete safety.  For  an  hour  or  so  I  worked  under  it,  and 
picked  up  what  had  fallen  hi  order  to  clear  the  track  for  the 
few  cars  still  to  be  loaded.  Then  we  ate  our  dinners  out 
of  our  buckets  outside  in  the  entry  where  the  weight  was 
less  and  the  timbers  sounder.  Then  we  came  back  to  the 
spot  where  I  had  been  working,  ready  to  go  at  it  again. 
Two  more  tons  had  fallen ! 

As  we  dug  and  picked  and  pounded  the  new  uprights 
and  cross-bars  into  place,  John,  of  course,  told  about  vari- 
ous disasters  and  serious  accidents,  including  the  time  the 
top-coal  fell  on  him  and  broke  his  leg.  Still  I  suppose  one 
broken  leg  in  eighteen  years  of  mining  (all  in  one  mine !) 
is,  on  the  whole,  rather  reassuring.  Certainly  the  roof 
seemed  to  trouble  him  mighty  little  beyond  an  occasional 
thump  to  test  its  soundness,  or  a  sharp  stop  to  listen  when 
slate  fell,  say,  on  the  other  side  of  the  entry,  where  he  was 
strenuously  hammering  a  post  into  position.  I  take  it  he 
never  heard  the  town  minister  tell  what  he  told  me  last 
night : 

"One  tune  I  had  to  give  up  going  to  an  important  na- 
tional assembly  of  my  denomination  because  word  came 
that  one  of  my  best  friends  had  been  entombed  in  a  big 
mine  disaster.  I  was  greatly  shocked  and  immediately 
wrote  the  funeral  sermon,  but  no  telegram  came  setting  the 
hour  of  the  funeral.  That  was  two  years  ago.  They  have 
been  working  on  that  disaster  ever  since.  Last  week  I 
preached  that  sermon — the  man's  body  had  only  just  been 
recovered!" 

(Incidentally,  the  minister  said  he  knew  little  about  the 
thoughts  or  the  feelings  of  the  town's  miners  outside  the 
few  foremen  in  his  church.  Furthermore,  he  doubted 
greatly  if  even  the  priest  of  the  local  Slavic  churches 
did.) 


120       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

My  timberman  is  certainly  a  hard  worker — and  a  con- 
scientious one.  We  kept  hard  at  it  all  day  except  for  the 
regular  short  morning  rest  and  bite  out  of  our  dinner- 
buckets  at  about  nine.  At  twelve  he  queried: 

"Buddie,  wat  you  tink?  If  work  now — no  catch  dinner 
—and  put  up  posts,  den  dees  'Bolshevik'  here  (jovial  for 
Russian)  he  no  lose  time  and  get  one  more  car  coal  to-day. 
Wat  say?" 

So  we  delayed  our  dinner  an  hour  and  thus  helped  the 
digger's  production  by  changing  the  cross-bar  (and  block- 
ing the  track)  during  the  hour  when  the  motorman  would 
be  eating  his  lunch,  and  so  would  not  come  along  and  have 
to  leave  the  digger's  full  car  to  wait  for  the  next  trip.  A 
first-class  example  of  mine  team-work. 

Nature  evidently  takes  a  hand  in  this  mine  team-work, 
too.  Before  we  finished  our  timbers,  the  pick-men  in  the 
entry  had  pretty  well  finished  their  ribs  and  pillars,  and  so 
began  taking  up  their  tracks.  To-morrow  they  will  delib- 
erately saw  the  timbers  supporting  their  roof,  and  with  their 
amazing  skill  contrive  to  back  out  safely  at  just  the  last 
safe  moment  while  the  roof  falls  in.  It  seems  that  this 
will  serve  to  lessen  the  weight  of  the  roof  on  the  place 
where  we  worked  to-day,  and  so  make  it  safer  for  the  Rus- 
sian to  go  ahead  and  get  out  the  coal  still  available  in  his 
"rib."  You  can  relieve  roof  pressure,  so  they  say,  by 
either  putting  up  stronger  supports  hi  the  room  itself,  or 
by  "making  a  fall"  in  a  near-by  room  or  entry. 

During  the  afternoon  the  section  boss,  a  very  reliable  and 
intelligent  man,  came  along,  saw  that  everything  was  going 
properly,  and  with  friendly  words  continued  his  rounds  of 
the  eighty-five  or  so  men  in  his  part  of  the  mine.  I  hope 
he  appreciates  what  a  good  man  he  has  in  my  buddy. 
Anyway,  I  was  warm  in  praising  him  whenever  his  very 
marked  pride  in  his  work  led  him  to  pause  for  breath  in 
between  strenuous  blows  and  inquire: 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  121 

"Dere,  Buddee,  wat  you  tink?  Me  good  timber-man? 
Mebbee  yes,  mebbee  no?  Wat  say?" 

I  didn't  do  a  quarter  of  the  work  he  did,  but  my  shoulders 
found  it  one  of  the  hardest  days  in  the  mine — and  that  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that,  joy  of  joys,  I  had  a  " shower-bath" 
in  the  cellar  to-night.  I'm  sure  that  lessens  by  at  least  a 
third  a  worker's  fatigue  after  a  day  of  hard,  sweaty,  dirty 
work. 

John,  like  others  of  his  kind,  has  handled  almost  every 
job  in  the  mines.  He  reported  a  short  period  "outside," 
but  showed  not  the  slightest  interest  in  any  other  field. 

"Work  one  year  steel  car  company — drive  rivet — no  like. 
Too  much  noise.  Old  man  dere  no  got  ears  no  more — no 
can  hear." 

To-night  an  American  just  ahead  of  me  in  the  line,  wait- 
ing to  be  "caged"  up,  testified:  "Yep,  thirty-seven  years 
of  it — mostly  right  here.  Pumping  now — mostly  walking 
from  one  pump  to  the  other.  Get  pretty  tired.  Nope, 
never  tried  nothin'  else.  Well,  I  don't  know,  guess 
'twas  because  I  was  afeard  of  the  weather." 

And  to-night  at  supper  a  new  boarder  confessed:  "No, 
I  cudn't  do  nothin'  else  but  mine — that  is,  and  be  happy. 
I  tried  it  once — in  a  railroad  yard.  They  was  too  many 
different  kinds  o'  weather  out  there,  so  I  come  back." 

Another  boarder,  Mike,  is  a  former  union  organizer — 
also  a  former  gambler.  "I  was  gettin'  too  sure  o'  myself — 
too  bold.  I  had  to  quit  it,  as  a  sort  of  safety-first  proposi- 
tion like,  you  know." 

He  tells  many  tales  of  disputes  he's  taken  part  in.  As 
to  the  union's  stand — or  lack  of  it — in  regard  to  living  con- 
ditions: 

"Well,  I'll  say  we  got  enough  to  handle,  with  pay  and 
hours  and  ventilation.  And  of  course,  you  understand,  in 
every  big  union  there's  lots  o'  fractions." 

I  get  the  impression  that  the  union  meetings  are  mostly 


122        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

run  by  the  most  aggressive,  and  that  all  the  decisions  come 
before  the  company  officers  as  demands  rather  than  requests 
or  suggestions,  whether  in  line  with  the  signed  agreement 
or  not.  The  attractive  pay  and  easy  duties  of  the  check- 
weighman  evidently  make  trouble.  I'm  told  he  is  changed 
often  by  the  vote  of  the  men,  whose  distrust  is  aroused  by 
some  one  who  feels  that  his  cars  are  not  being  weighed 
fairly,  and  who  is  himself,  quite  likely  then  to  be  elected  to 
the  job — only  to  be  displaced  in  his  turn  by  some  other 
doubter  of  his  honesty. 

I'm  positively  sorry  to  be  going  away  to-morrow,  but 
I'm  after  steel  rather  than  mine  experience,  and  I  hope  it 
will  now  be  possible  to  get  a  mill  job.  But  I  certainly  have 
got  a  valuable  side-light  on  the  problem  of  the  factory  fore- 
man. I  recall  how  we  used  to  agree  hi  the  sheet-mill  that 
the  foreman  did  not  want  to  answer  our  questions  for  fear 
he'd  lose  his  monopoly  of  the  "know-how"  and  how  on  the 
open-hearth  we  usually  learned  things  only  by  being  cursed 
in  everybody's  presence  when  we  made  mistakes.  No 
wonder  these  men  here  feel  independent  and  self-respecting. 
Especially  when  the  tonnage  men  can  take  their  dinner- 
bucket  and  go  " outside"  and  home  at  any  hour  they  feel 
like  it.  Then,  too,  if  they  get  tired  loading,  with  its  puff- 
hard-fill-car-take-easy  method,  they  can  easily  get  a  chance 
to  become  skilled  men  at  wiring  or  track-laying,  timbering, 
etc.  Still  more  important,  once  a  year  anybody  can  go  to 
the  county-seat  and  take  an  examination  to  become  a  fire- 
boss,  and  then  a  pit-boss,  and  so  rise  almost  indefinitely. 
In  other  words,  the  State,  as  it  were,  furnishes  hi  coal  that 
pull-less  promotion  system  which  is  felt  by  many  workers 
to  be  so  missing  in  many  plants. 

"I  mind  me  o'  Jo  Smith,"  said  mine  host  the  other  night; 
"'e  couldn't  even  read  when  'e  was  thirty.  An'  then  'e 
married  a  school-teacher,  y'  understand.  And  damned  if 
she  didn't  up  an'  learn  'im  to  read.  An'  the  first  thing  ye 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  123 

know,  'ere  'e  was  a  fire-boss.  And  then  later,  'e  gets  ter  be 
a  pit-boss  and  superintender. — An'  then  one  day  they 
makes  'im  manager  an'  president!" 

At  this  the  ex-union  organizer  and  gambler  exploded: 
"Don't  it  beat  the  dickens  the  way  some  fellows  has  all  the 
luck!" 

Altogether,  it  looks  as  though  the  independence  of  the 
worker,  a  proper  day  of  eight  hours  with  good  pay,  either 
according  to  your  own  efforts  or  to  an  agreed,  liberal  day- 
rate,  with  "alia  time  good  air  and  no  cold — no  hot,"  justi- 
fies the  country's  miners  in  thinking  highly  of  their  work, 
their  service,  and  therefore  themselves  as  useful  and  self- 
respecting  persons — altogether  different  from  anything  I 
would  ever  have  supposed  a  few  months  ago. 

It  seems  to  me  certain  that  the  company  is  getting  its 
money  back  on  all  these  expenditures  for  better  living  con- 
ditions. And  the  workers  seem  to  me  a  higher  class,  less 
given  to  booze  and  unreliability  and  irregularity,  and  so 
able  to  secure  better  production  per  man — also  fewer  acci- 
dent claims — altogether  a  happier  and  more  stable  working 
force  than  under  other  circumstances.  And  that's  the  real 
test  of  any  welfare  or  better-relation  activities. 

I  wonder  what's  to  be  the  next  job. 

Steelville  again, 
May  19. 

The  mine  superintendent  reported  that  I  had  proved  his 
informal  and  voluntary  secret  service  to  be  hi  prime  work- 
ing order;  nearly  a  dozen  foremen  had  'phoned  to  suggest 
a  close  eye  on  me  as  a  "  fellow  with  a  dark  beard  and  a 
keen  eye  who  certainly  looks  like  a  Bolshevik."  Another 
citizen  had  reported  me  as  taking  notes  at  a  ball  game — I 
was  signing  a  picture-postal.  Another  stated  that  she  had 
seen  me  through  an  open  window  drawing  maps  in  my  bed- 
room, and,  as  I  had  been  heard  to  speak  a  few  words  in 
German,  I  was  undoubtedly  a  spy  for  the  Huns ! 


124        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  my  last  night  in  the 
town,  my  roommates,  just  getting  in  from  their  night  shift, 
had  said  they  knew  I  was  a  detective.  Things  looked  close 
for  a  few  moments,  but  I  was  able  to  reassure  them  of  my 
interest  in  coal-mining  and  not  in  individuals — until  with 
their  fatigue  they  dropped  off  to  sleep.  At  breakfast  the 
landlady  expressed  the  same  suspicions  but  also  seemed 
easily  reassured. 

That  person,  by  the  way,  made  a  large  hole  in  the  earn- 
ings of  a  week.  The  wages  of  four  days  as  "timber-man" 
were  twenty  dollars,  minus  some  slight  deductions  for  the 
electric  safety-lamp  (five  cents  per  day),  etc.  With  ten  dol- 
lars out  for  board  and  room,  it  did  not  make  one  very  en- 
thusiastic about  building  a  fortune. 

At  any  rate,  my  second  week  of  coal  has  shown  that  bad 
living  conditions  are  not  a  necessity  unless  the  coal-seam 
of  the  town  or  camp  is  extremely  short-lived;  also,  I  think, 
that  money  spent  by  the  company  in  better  surroundings 
brings  good  returns  in  better  and  more  productive  workers, 
as  mentioned  before.  It  also  appears  to  me  unquestion- 
able that  the  miner's  work  carries  him  much  closer  to  a 
genuine  self-respect  than  does  the  steel-mill  laborer's  job. 
With  this  start  the  increase  of  it  by  any  and  all  means 
would  seem  to  bring  good  results  in  many  ways.  It  also 
seems  certain  that  hi  the  limited  opportunities  of  the  camps 
the  most  outstanding  way  to  indicate  your  standing  is  not 
to  earn  and  spend  as  we  do,  but  just  not  to  earn,  seeing  that 
there  is  so  little  to  do  with  the  money. 

That  must  be  the  reason  why  the  operators  claim  that 
even  when  they  have  the  orders  and  the  needed  cars,  the 
difficulty  is  to  get  the  miners  to  stay  "inside"  for  a  good 
day's  and  a  good  week's  work.  Where  a  man  can  show  by 
his  house  or  his  flivver  or  by  other  of  his  possessions  that  he 
is  "getting  on,"  a  very  definite  value  is  given  to  earning 
the  wherewithal.  But  in  a  community  where  no  house 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  125 

can  be  bought — because  the  town  may  not  be  there  a  few 
years  later — and  where  the  roads  may  be  too  bad  for  a 
flivver,  then  the  only  other  way  of  indicating  the  status  of 
a  self-respecting  man  who  is  "as  good  as  the  next  one" 
would  seem  to  be  by  that  "conspicuous  leisure"  which  is 
obtained,  not  in  the  ordinary  way  of  working,  earning,  and 
then  buying,  but  by  not  working — by  walking  out  of  the 
mine  at  two  o'clock  while  some  other  chap  is  so  much  a 
dub  of  a  worker  that,  in  order  to  make  a  living,  he  has  to 
stay  hi  till  the  day  is  ended  at  four ! 

Work  has  been  such  that  I've  seen  little  of  this,  but  it  is 
hard  to  read  any  statement  from  the  operators  without 
running  onto  it. 

At  the  mine  the  most  serious  moment  of  the  day  was  at 
five  o'clock.  Then  everybody  began  to  listen  and  I  would- 
n't be  surprised  if  many  prayed.  Finally  the  whistle  would 
boom  and  re-echo  from  the  sides  of  the  valley :  One — two — 
three!  With  that,  the  tension  was  over  and  everybody 
smiled.  "Work  to-morrow!  Thank  God!"  But  when  it 
went  only  one — two !  you  saw  men  taking  it  pretty  hard — 
running  their  hands  through  their  hair  and  saying:  "My 
God !  How  can  live !  What  can  do  ?  No  work  to-morrow ! ' ' 

And  nobody  seemed  to  know  why. 

"It's  somethin'  about  steel!"  said  my  landlord  when  I 
asked  him  for  the  cause  of  the  two-blast  days.  He  had 
been  with  the  company  all  the  ten  years  it  has  been  owned 
by  a  steel  company  which  must,  of  course,  lower  its  coal- 
and-coke  production  the  minute  steel  begins  to  slow  up — 
when  war  contracts  are  called  off  and  peace-time  buyers 
hesitate  in  hopes  of  lower  prices. 

On  the  subject  of  the  Bolshevists,  by  the  way,  I  was  in- 
terested to  get  the  testimony  of  some  federal-service  men 
recently,  like  this: 

"There  are  about  25,000  I.  W.  W.'s  hi  the  whole  coun- 
try. Their  recent  convention  in  Chicago  brought  only  54 


126        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

delegates.  It  is  likely  they  will  shortly  attempt  to  revive 
their  propaganda  for  sabotage,  stopped  during  the  war. 
Personally,  we  believe  the  average  employer  is  hysterical 
in  his  fear  of  what  the  radicals  may  do — though  we  tell 
all  of  them  we  see  that  the  mailed-fist  and  machine-gun 
method  is  the  worst  possible  way  to  stop  it.  Especially  hi 
this  district  there  should  be  more  effort  to  get  better  con- 
tacts with  their  men.  .  .  . 

"Such  Russians  as  we  arrested  up  there  hi  your  coal 
town  the  other  day  are  not  strictly  Bolshevists.  They  are 
members  of  the  'Union  of  Russian  Workmen,'  which  charges 
modest  dues  for  teaching  them  to  read  and  then  makes 
philosophical  anarchists  and  terrorists  out  of  them.  It 
has  about  15,000  members  and  was  organized  hi  this  coun- 
try by  the  man  who  is  now  one  of  Trotsky's  men — his  chief 
of  police  in  a  big  Russian  city.  These  men  are  easily  sub- 
ject to  deportation  under  federal  law. 

'Debs  is  a  member  of  the  Workmen's  International  In- 
dustrial Union,  which  may  be  called  the  left  wing  of  the 
I.  W.  W.  and  the  right  whig  of  the  Socialists — or  vice 
versa.  All  of  these  are  radical  split-offs  from  the  organized- 
labor  movement.  Some  radicals,  like  Foster  of  the  Amal- 
gamated Association  of  Iron,  Steel  and  Tin  Plate  Workers, 
are  hoping  to  stay  in  conservative  labor  ranks,  and  by 
'boring  from  within'  convert  it  to  radicalism  or  wreck  it 
in  the  attempt.  Employers  definitely  help  such  insidious 
plans  when  then*  'labor  policy'  only  means  the  hiring  of 
secret-service  men  who  proceed  to  beat  up  and  drive  out 
of  town  any  agitators  or  other  men  who  begin  to  show 
signs  of  a  leadership  that  might  later  become  troublesome. 
Such  a  'labor  policy'  is  entirely  too  common  in  the  rougher 
industries.  It  may  easily  bring  about  the  blowing-up  of 
some  of  the  plants  of  the  worst  employers  and  so  start 
serious  trouble." 

The  street-car  strike  here  does  not  seem  to  be  taken  very 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  127 

seriously.  The  paper  this  morning  said  many  of  the  men 
were  glad  to  get  back  to  running  the  cars  after  the  house- 
cleaning  to  which  their  wives  had  put  them.  To-night  a 
waitress — after  telling  of  her  "  going  out  to  work  at  the  age 
of  eleven"  (on  account  of  nine  children  and  a  sick  father) — 
recounted  how  a  woman  at  her  table  a  few  days  before  had 
exclaimed: 

"Well,  I  hope  they  strike.  My  man's  a  motonnan,  and 
I  need  him  at  home  to  beat  some  carpets." 

A  chat  to-day  with  a  Bohemian  minister  (Presbyterian) 
who  has  been  in  this  country  eight  years  brought  out: 

"Yes,  I  think  many,  many  Slavic  people  will  go  back  as 
soon  as  they  can.  Not  many — hardly  any — Bohemians 
and  not  many  of  the  Slavs  who  are  on  farms.  But  of  the 
Poles,  Ruthenians  and  Ukrainians — they  all  are  very  na- 
tionalistic— many  will  go  back;  nearly  one-fourth  of  the 
600,000  Ruthenians,  for  instance.  Whether  they  stay  or 
not,  that  will  depend  on  what  they  find.  Personally,  I 
think  they  expect  to  find  too  much,  and  I  know  many  of 
their  people  want  to  come  here.  I  think  the  country  will 
suffer  if  they  do  not  let  them  come — if  they  pass  this  anti- 
immigration  bill  in  Congress.  .  .  .  Yes,  we  try  to  Ameri- 
canize, but  we  never  say  that  word — foreign  people  do  not 
like  it.  And  when  we  see  some  of  our  own  children — often 
they  are  cleaner  than  American  children — looked  down  upon 
as  'Hunkies,'  I  wish  Americans  would  take  some  Americani- 
zation themselves.  Yes,  it  is  hard  work,  especially  when 
Bohemians  so  generally  go  from  Catholicism,  not  to  Protes- 
tanism  but  to  atheism." 

Well,  I'll  agree  with  him  to  the  point  of  feeling  posi- 
tively sorry  not  to  see  more  of  my  rough  and  husky,  but 
honest  and  friendly  and  likeable,  Slavic  buddies  here  in  the 
mines,  and  they  certainly  are  hard  workers — a  lot  of  us 
would  certainly  shiver  if  these  chaps  weren't  in  our  midst ! 

"Rosvameshpo  Polski?"  (Do  you  speak  Polish?) — is  all 


128        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

I  know  besides  a  few  numerals,  but  even  that  seems  to  sur- 
prise them  and  make  them  more  friendly. 

And  now  to  look  around  for  another  job.  "No  work" 
at  the  steel-mills  gave  me  a  chance  to  learn  something  of 
the  reason  for  the  spirit  of  freemasonry  so  noticeable  among 
railway  workers. 

Steelville, 
Decoration  Day. 

To-day  I  feel  as  though  a  worker  ought  to  ask,  "Where 
am  I  going  to  live?"  before  expressing  a  preference  for  an 
eight-hour-day  job.  Of  course,  the  hourly  rate  is  more 
important  because  it  practically  tells  him  where  he  may 
live.  But  just  now  I  feel  almost  as  though  I'd  prefer  longer 
hours  at  the  same  money  because  the  longer  day  in  the 
plant  would  mean  a  shorter  day  in  the  less  pleasant  sur- 
roundings of  the  boarding-house. 

I  don't  imagine  many  workers  would  figure  it  out  just 
that  way,  for  I'm  simply  suffering  from  the  accumulated 
dirtiness  and  misery  of  several  days  and  nights  here  in  the 
slums.  At  any  rate,  I  can  now  appreciate  better  than  be- 
fore the  view-point  of  a  man  who  walks  past  an  eight-hour 
job  and  takes  a  ten  and  twelve  hour  one  that  doesn't  pay 
any  very  great  amount  more.  He  figures  on  two  things: 
he  can  buy  somewhat  better  living  accommodations — and 
then  he  won't  have  to  stay  in  them  so  long. 

All  this  quite  surely  has  something  to  do  with  the  diffi- 
culty of  getting  the  work  done,  and  done  well,  there  in  the 
railroad  roundhouse  where  I  now  have  the  title  of  "ma- 
chinist's helper."  With  all  the  rules  enforcing  strictly  the 
eight-hour  day,  my  forty-five  cents  an  hour  as  a  helper 
brings  three  dollars  and  sixty  cents.  Figure  this  with  the 
cost  of  existing  and  the  excessive  grease  and  grime  of  help- 
ing to  fix  engines,  and  it  gives  a  reason  for  my  Polish  ma- 
chinist's apparently  frequent  lack  of  a  helper,  and  his 
anxiety  to  treat  me  well  my  first  day.  At  the  same  tune  he 
wasn't  at  all  happy  in  his  own  work,  though  he  gets  fifty- 
seven  cents  and  can  work  up  to  sixty-eight. 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  129 

"Thees  one  debil  of  job — alia  time  dirt,  sweat,  grease. 
But  to-day  we  take  eesy  so  mebbe  you  come  back  to- 
morrow," he  explained  as  soon  as  I  was  turned  over  to  him 
by  the  foreman.  A  moment  later  he  apologized  for  having 
to  ask  me  to  crawl  along  with  him  down  into  the  pit  be- 
neath one  of  the  monster  engines: 

"Watch  yourself — mebbe  no  get-'em  grease.  Last  week 
new  buddy  he  get-'em  grease  and  straight  he  queet.  No- 
body like-'em  dees  work.  Good  man  he  no  stay." 

After  we  had  got  out  the  heavy  eccentric  rods  and  car- 
ried them  to  the  blacksmith  shop  we  "took  a  blow"  and  he 
showed  me  the  store-rooms,  machine-shop,  etc. 

"Dees  place  you  come  for  get-'em  tool.  Me  want  you 
like  job — stay  be  my  buddy." 

Others  called  to  me  not  to  worry  when  I  showed  signs  of 
wanting  to  keep  busy  when  he  left  me  for  a  time;  as  near 
as  I  can  make  out,  the  general  motto  is,  "Don't  kill  your- 
self!" 

After  several  days  of  it,  it  looks  as  though  the  trouble  is 
that  the  wages  for  the  eight  hours  are  generally  found  too 
small  to  hold  a  man  unless  he  can  take  it  as  easy  as  the 
work  will  at  all  permit.  When,  day  before  yesterday,  I  was 
changed  to  a  different  job,  my  new  buddy,  a  young  Ameri- 
can, took  a  great  deal  of  time  to  assure  me  that  "There's 
nothing  to  it,  Charlie.  It's  a  cinch — most  o'  the  tune 
waitin'  around  for  your  signal  when  they  want  you.  It's 
dead  easy — you'll  like  it  fine!" 

I  was  quite  proud  to  learn  that  my  signal  would  be  the 
one  long  blast,  which  I  had  supposed  was  for  some  very 
important  chap.  So  I  took  great  pride  in  hopping  off  to 
report  hi  answer  to  its  summons — much  to  his  disgust. 
When  later  I  came  in  from  strenuously  scrubbing  the  head- 
lights on  top  of  the  big  hot  engines,  the  boys  exclaimed, 
"Say,  you  ain't  supposed  to  sweat  on  that  job!" 

This  listless  attitude  is  usual  for  unskilled  labor,  but  not 


130        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

for  skilled  and  semi-skilled  men.  Another  factor  is  un- 
doubtedly that  the  union,  which  took  advantage  of  govern- 
ment and  the  war-time  ban  on  opposition  to  unions  to  grow 
strong,  is  apparently  now  discounting  somewhat  the  com- 
pany's control  of  its  men.  Still  another  factor  is  the  ab- 
sence of  the  "swing-shift." 

Instead  of  the  men's  working  one  week  or  one  month  on 
the  first  shift  or  trick  from  seven  to  three,  daylight,  changing 
the  following  week  to  the  evening  shift,  and  then  to  the 
night  shift,  as  is  common,  for  instance,  in  the  hot-mills  of 
steel-rolling  plants,  here  a  man's  length  of  service  gives 
him  his  choice  to  have  and  to  hold  the  whole  year  round. 
The  day  shift  is,  of  course,  the  most  popular.  Next, 
strangely  enough,  is  the  third  or  night  " trick."  The  worst 
of  the  three,  and  the  one  where  every  new  man  must  per- 
force begin,  is  the  second — three  to  eleven  P.  M.  This 
order  of  choice  makes  one  more  proof  of  the  fundamental 
I  keep  running  up  against — that  everybody  wants  to  be  a 
near-normal  human  being  hi  addition  to  being  a  worker. 

"Why,  I  can't  call  on  my  girl  without  gettin'  a  lay-off  to 
do  it — and  that  costs  me  a  day's  wages  before  we  start! 
Sunday  ? — why,  you've  got  to  get  a  lay-off  for  Sundays  and 
holidays  just  like  any  other  day,  and  you'd  better  not  get 
too  blooming  many  of  'em,  either. 

"Union?  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  what  they  do. 
We  second-trick  fellows  can't  never  go  to  the  meetings— 
no,  nor  to  the  movies,  nor  anything  else. 

"Of  course,  we  have  our  mornings  and  we  can  eat  dinner 
with  the  wife  and  mebbe  the  kids,  and  we  can  garden — 
but  what's  the  use?  Why,  say,  I've  got  a  fine  suit  at  home 
— bought  it  over  five  years  ago.  Swell !  But  do  you  sup- 
pose I  can  wear  it  out  and  get  a  new  one?  I  should  say 

not !  No  chance  as  long  as  I'm  stuck  on  this second 

trick!" 

Then,  too,  there's  the  union  regulation  which,  as  reported 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  131 

to  me,  says  that  no  helper  can  be  advanced  to  machinist 
unless  he  started  as  helper  before  he  was  twenty-Jive. 

"You  twenty-five?  Come  here? — you  fit  for  nothing 
except  for  kill,"  explained  my  Emil  that  first  day. 

Of  course  such  a  rule  closes  the  door  for  many,  and  so, 
theoretically,  makes  the  chances  greater  for  the  others. 
But  with  forty-five  cents  and  eight  hours  for  the  start,  and 
the  final  limit  of  sixty-eight  cents  on  the  second  shift  until 
years  and  deaths  bring  the  third  or  the  first — well,  that's 
surely  another  reason  for  the  round-house's  lack  of  interested 
workers. 

At  the  pace  taken  the  work  is  not  exhausting,  and  would 
be  much  less  so  if  only  the  hammer,  sledge,  or  wrench  did 
not  have  to  be  handled  in  such  outlandish  positions.  The 
locomotive  apparently  still  is  where  the  automobile  was  a 
dozen  and  more  years  ago,  when  that  joke  started  about 
the  insane  motorist  tinkering  with  the  slats  of  his  asylum- 
bed — a  story  which  was  shortly  killed  by  making  the  motor 
get-at-able  from  the  top.  Even  after  standing  in  a  four- 
foot  pit  you're  likely  to  wear  scabs  on  your  head  for  some 
tune — and  to  avoid  the  grease  is  apparently  impossible 
even  for  the  most  experienced. 

Still,  I  can  hardly  imagine  any  man  who  was  once  a  boy 
who  wouldn't  be  glad  to  crawl  under  and  over  and  into  the 
giant  engines.  They  look  power.  They  feel  power  as  you 
pound  their  steel  "innards."  They  breathe  power  as  they 
pant.  They  spell  power,  even  when  the  dinkey,  or  "goose," 
as  it's  called,  pushes  them  about  after  their  fire-box  is  cold. 
You  feel  yourself  absorbing  strength  just  as  does  the  groom 
of  the  giant — and  you  wish  yourself  in  the  engineer's  seat 
with  your  hand  on  the  throttle,  driving  the  monster,  whose 
nose  is  plunging  on  forty-five  or  fifty  feet  in  front  of  your 
controlling  fingers. 

So  I  have  enjoyed  the  work  in  spite  of  all  the  bumps  and 
the  grime  and  the  injunctions  to  "Take  it  easy !"  And,  as 


132        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

I  started  out  to  say  at  the  beginning,  I'd  be  tickled  if  I 
could  stay  there  in  "the  house"  or  "the  yard"  more  and 
here  in  my  room  less. 

At  three  dollars  and  sixty  cents  a  day  a  fellow's  got  to 
watch  corners.  By  staying  near-by  I  could  cut  out  the 
street-car.  No  room  is  to  be  had,  even  here  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, for  much  if  any  less  than  three  dollars  a  week. 
The  cheapest  board  I've  met  is  a  twenty-one  meal-ticket 
for  six  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  Bing!  there  goes  almost 
one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  out  of  that  three  dollars  and  sixty 
cents!  You  can't  work  without  canvas  gloves  at  twenty- 
five  cents  per,  and  if  you  don't  disgrace  your  buddies 
you've  got  to  pay  for  a  lot  of  washing.  With  all  that,  you're 
only  alive  and  physically  able  to  work — provided  you  have 
better  luck  than  I  did  when  I  took  my  present  quarters. 
For  every  day  here  I  feel  too  tired  to  work  hard. 

The  front  rooms  I  saw  were  too  noisy.  This  one  is  at 
the  rear.  Its  drawback  is  that  the  other  roomers  have  to 
pass  through  it  to  the  bathroom. 

"But  Oi  hev  only  wan  or  two  others  besides  yorself,  sor, 
and  Oi'm  certain,  sor,  ye'll  not  mind  it  at  all,  at  all,"  the 
landlady  of  about  sixty-five  assured  me.  I  inspected  the 
bathroom  and  felt  that  an  ex-roomer  who  happened  to  be 
on  hand  was  probably  right  in  saying  the  old  lady  was 
clean  and  honest.  But  I  guess  I'm  a  poor  inspector:  I 
failed  to  notice  that  the  bathroom  has  no  ventilation  what- 
ever except  through  what  is  now  my  room!  My  window 
looks  out  on  a  little  court  about  ten  by  twenty  feet,  formed 
by  alley-houses,  whose  back  steps  are  covered  with  colored 
people  and  bulwarked  by  garbage-cans.  Just  around  the 
court's  corner  is  a  stable  with  about  fifty  horses  and  numer- 
ous colored  hostlers,  whose  noisy  labors  continue  far  into 
the  night.  The  wind  seems  often  to  set  from  that  direc- 
tion for  carrying  both  noise  and  odor.  Ditto  for  the  black- 
smith-shop just  beyond. 


Courtesy  of  the  New  York  Central  Railroad 

A  FREIGHT  ENGINE  LIFTED  BY  A  CRANE 

Part  of  the  dignity  and  satisfaction  of  the  worker's  life  comes  from  his 
familiar  association  with  and  control  of  great  power 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  133 

Carpets  seem  to  be  often  beaten  in  my  court — and  very 
dirty  ones,  too.  But  even  then,  if  the  wind  is  blowing  the 
dust  down  the  alley,  I  dislike  to  be  awakened  by  the  land- 
lady coming  in  to  close  my  window  and  so  shut  off  both  the 
dirt  and  the  outside  air  from  my  room — my  bath-bedroom ! 

I  must  say  the  colored  people  seem  to  be  happy — I  find 
myself  chuckling  occasionally  even  now  in  the  midst  of 
my  Decoration  Day  case  of  "slum  slumps,"  in  unison  with 
one  neighbor  of  a  very  infectious  laugh. 

"No,  sor,"  says  my  housekeeper,  uthey  don't  use  as  bad 
language  as  lots  o'  them  as  thinks  theirselves  their  betters. 
Oi  must  say  as  they've  had  raisin' — good  raisin' ! 

"That  piano-player?  Well,  sor,  now  thot's  from  a  house 
thot's  not  so  good.  Ye'll  be  after  understandin'  me,  sop- 
it's  not  a  nice  place.  But  still,  they  run  it  respectable-like, 
and  Oi  must  say  some  o'  thim  colored  women  Oi  see  come 
out  o'  there  do  look  like  real  ladies,  if  Oi  do  say  it." 

Well,  is  it  any  wonder — with  no  movies  to  go  to  because 
it's  morning,  no  offices  nor  stores  nor  public  baths  nor 
libraries  to  look  into  because  it's  a  holiday,  no  bed  made 
because  some  of  the  roomers  aren't  up  yet  after  their  night 
shift,  and  nothing  to  do  but  go  around  in  the  neighboring 
alleys  and  see  thousands  of  negroes  and  Slavic  folk  hi  shirt- 
sleeves or  night-gowns  and  kimonos  crowded  on  their  side- 
walks or  court-porches  and  steps,  with  glimpses  of  front 
rooms  chuck-full  of  beds  and  cribs  and  dinner-tables  and 
stoves  and  pink-and-red-tinselled  shrines  and  chromos,  is 
it  any  wonder  that  I  find  it  hard  to  think  to-day  of  those 
who  fell  at  Gettysburg  or  Cantigny !  These  people  are  the 
soldiers  of  our  modern  industry.  They  aren't  under  the 
sod,  but  many  of  them  are  maimed  in  their  fight  in  the 
trenches  of  production,  and  many  of  them  are  a  lot  like 
the  discouraged  colored  boy  I  heard  telling  his  friend  in 
the  employment-office  hallway  last  winter  when  jobs  were 
scarcer  than  now: 


134        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

"Well,  Ah  don't  calls  it  livin';  Ah'in  just  existin'; — and 
with  one  o'  my  feet  down  to'rds  the  cold  clay  and  the  rough- 
box — and  me  likely  to  slip  if  Ah  doan'  mind  my  step  mighty 
sharp  like." 

Of  course  I  suppose  it's  right  to  assume  that  my  Slavic 
and  colored  friends  are  not  as  bothered  by  bathroom-stable 
smells  as  I  am,  but  they  must  wake  up  just  as  often  as  I 
do  when  people  pass  through  their  room  or  when  the 
whole  family  is  in  with  them.  And  then,  too,  I'm  sure  they 
are  driven  more  surely  than  I — though  perhaps  less  con- 
sciously— to  the  companionship  of  the  saloon  or  the  place 
of  the  player-piano  (though  on  this  score  of  music,  I  must 
say  that  a  great  number  of  the  crowded  tumble-downs  I 
saw  this  morning  had  victrolas  and  player-pianos  going 
gayly).  In  fact,  I'll  warrant  the  whole  outfit  of  them  will 
feel  quite  as  little  like  doing  a  good  day's  work  in  the  mill 
or  the  round-house  as  I  will  when  I  register  this  afternoon 
at  three. 

Just  who's  to  blame  for  such  a  dreadful  district  I  don't 
know.  But  with  these  few  days  added  to  the  coal-camp, 
I'm  surer  than  ever  that  the  employer  has  an  interest  in 
the  living  conditions  of  his  workers  that  is  a  long  way  from 
philanthropic.  Of  course,  as  long  as  even  such  places  rep- 
resent home,  with  all  its  associations  and  intimacies,  they 
and  the  changing  of  them  will  have  to  be  handled  with  the 
kid  gloves  of  diplomacy. 

Emil  assures  me  that  most  of  his  friends  are  going  back 
"to  auld  country  just  so  soon  as  they  can,  so  can  live  on 
farm  in  nice  place."  If  that's  true,  the  resultant  labor 
shortage  will  present  to  industry  a  large  bill  in  the  form 
of  higher  wages.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  some  of  this  in- 
come is  to  be  used  for  better  houses — provided  this  city  can 
see  the  wisdom  of  burning  up  such  as  these  around  me  and 
get  others  built. 

Ugh  !     I  guess  I'll  go  out  and  take  a  walk  and  try  to  find 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  135 

a  clean  restaurant  for  dinner  so  as  to  get  into  better  shape 
for  the  work  on  those  handsome  steel  engine  chaps. 

Later. — I  hate  to  think  of  the  low-down — the  vile — con- 
versation I  had  to  overhear  last  night  between  the  old 
landlady  and  one  of  the  roomers,  or  the  goings  on  I  had  to 
witness  in  a  neighboring  apartment,  but  it  was  only  in  line 
with  all  the  other  things  to  be  seen  and  heard  on  all  sides 
in  this  locality. 

Hotel  de  Bath-Bed-Room, 
June  1st. 

There  is,  somehow,  a  thrill  about  working  with  engines 
— especially  the  live  ones  that  go  out  from  your  hand  and 
get  groomed  into  shape  to  run  down  to  the  station  for 
their  job  of  hauling  the  politician  to  the  governor's  office  at 

B ,  or  the  worried  husband  to  his  sick  wife  or  baby  up 

at  "The  Junction" — all  the  actors  in  "this  pleasing,  anxious 
being"  called  life. 

Last  night  I  caught  this  thrill  from  the  inspector,  who 
was  extremely  proud  of  his  responsibility.  With  him  I 
helped  test  every  one  of  the  more  important  and  accessible 
nuts  and  bolts  and  pins  and  bearings  that  spell  speed  and 
safety  to  the  engineer  and  all  his  protege's: 

"You  see,  if  I  fall  down  on  my  job,  there's  the  devil  to 
pay  and  maybe  scores  of  lives  lost  (tap,  tap  on  the  piston- 
pin).  If  they  pull  into  A —  -  even  fifteen  minutes  late  be- 
cause this  here  works  loose  (tap,  tap  on  the  dowel-pin  on 
the  eccentric  or  the  valve-stem)  it  gets  right  back  to  me, 
you  understand.  Now  this  here  is  the  power  for  Train 

No. ,  which  is  one  of  the  fastest  and  best  on  the  line. 

And  the  engineer ! — Well,  I'll  say  he's  some  particular  guy. 
In  an  hour  you'll  see  him  out  here  goin'  over  all  this  just  as 
if  you  and  me  was  dead.  .  .  .  And  you've  got  to  know  the 
name  of  every  blamed  bolt  and  screw — or  how  can  you  tell 
the  boss  what's  wrong?  .  .  .  Whew!  Say,  look  here! 


136       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

That  spring's  got  all  them  leaves  busted.  Wow!  We'll 
have  to  report  that,  and  if  the  boss  don't  'shop'  her  for  re- 
pairs they  won't  have  anything  on  me,  anyway." 

His  pride  was  refreshing.  It  was  a  sight,  though,  to  see 
how  it  offended  my  Emil,  who  as  a  machinist  had  taken 
these  very  engines  apart  and  put  'em  together  again,  and 
so  felt  he  did  not  need  to  be  urged  so  strenuously  to  "Keep 
your  eyes  open  there,  Shorty!  This  is  serious  business." 
All  during  the  shift  they  growled  alternately  into  my  ear, 
each  about  the  other,  each  defending  his  own  knowledge 
and  its  value  and  sufficiency  to  the  occasion. 

Occasionally  we  had  to  stop  and  do  some  fixing  before 
we  could  report  "0.  K."  As  we  worked,  the  "hard-grease" 
man  was  filling  the  cups  on  the  main  rod  or  the  side  bar, 
which  together  carry  the  motion  from  piston-head  to  drive- 
wheel.  Or  perhaps  the  "air  men"  were  seeing  to  the 
brakes,  while  still  others  were  making  sure  that  water  and 
steam  and  fire  were  in  good  condition. 

Then  would  come  along  the  tracks  a  well-dressed  man  in 
a  pressed  suit  and  a  new  straw  hat,  carrying  a  suit-case, 
looking  like — well,  like  a  member  of  the  town  school  board. 

"Where's  7978?" 

"Right  there,  sir,  second  ahead." 

He  was  the  engineer.  Up  he'd  mount  and  pretty  soon 
be  down  hi  his  newly  washed  and  ironed  overalls  and 
jumper,  cap  with  goggles,  handkerchief  over  his  white 
collar,  and  oil-can  in  hand,  going  over  it  all  again  as  though 
we  had  never  been  born ! 

He's  the  king  of  the  round-house — the  prince  of  the 
yard.  When  he  takes  the  throttle  to  move  out  in  his  turn, 
and  whistles  three  blasts  for  the  switch  to  take  him  to  his 
train  hi  the  big  station,  everything  is  supposed  to  be  in 
readiness  for  him,  even  down  to  the  tools  and  the  drinking- 
water  in  the  iron  cupboard.  And  when  he  comes  back  to 
the  yard  from  his  run,  he  turns  his  engine  over  to  the 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  137 

"hostler,"  who  sees  to  driving  it  to  all  the  places  where  it 
dumps  its  ashes,  gets  its  water,  and  receives  the  other  at- 
tentions required  for  the  next  trip. 

From  his  look  the  engineer  seems  to  deserve  the  dignity 
he  enjoys.  Usually,  so  they  tell  me,  he  has  had  to  be  fire- 
man for  ten  or  more  years  before  his  chance  came.  So 
he's  no  casual  worker;  he's  an  expert  in  a  place  where  lack 
of  experience  may  mean  death  for  him  and  many  others. 
By  his  union  with  the  others  of  his  group  throughout  the 
country  he  has  secured  recognition  of  his  importance. 
From  the  information  to  be  picked  up  in  the  yards  and  the 
"house,"  his  earnings  are  much  below  the  figures  generally 
understood.  That  eight-hour  restriction  practically  means 
work  only  every  other  day — a  run  and  return  usually 
constitute  a  double  turn  one  day  and  so  require  a  loaf  the 
next  day.  For  this  he  gets  from  thirty-five  to  fifty  dollars 
a  week.  This  can  hardly  be  felt  too  liberal,  considering  the 
responsibility,  the  skill,  the  dirt,  and  the  danger — also  those 
long  years  of  hard  shovelling  as  a  fireman  at  pay  little  above 
labor  rates. 

"First,  ye're  on  the  'extra'  list  as  a  fireman,  y'  under- 
stand? And  it  may  be  a  long  tune  before  ye  get  a  reg'lar 
run.  Then  after  a  few  years,  when  ye  think  ye're  going  to 
cop  out  a  boost,  along  comes  some  guy  you  never  heard  of, 
mebbe  from  some  other  division  entirely,  and  gets  it  be- 
cause he  got  hi  mebbe  two  days  ahead  of  ye,  eight  years 
ago !  And  so  ye  wait  another  year  or  two,"  said  one  who 
had  finally  given  up  his  place  in  order  to  become  a  machinist. 

It  seems  to  me  highly  proper  that  the  engineer's  job  has 
come  to  have  the  dignity  it  has — whether  by  his  own  efforts 
or  otherwise.  It  puts  a  bigger,  abler,  and  more  dependable 
man  in  charge  of  us  travellers.  Without  that,  all  the  tap- 
tappings  of  my  friend  the  inspector,  and  the  attentions  of 
all  the  others  in  the  house  and  the  yard  would  be  pretty 
fruitless,  as  well  as  all  the  precautions  taken  after  the 


138        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

huge,  panting  "X-4"  is  coupled  up  to  the  Pullmans  hi  the 
station. 

I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if  most  of  us  realize  that  while 
we're  getting  on  board,  the  station  "air  man"  is  getting  up 
into  the  engine  to  "set  the  air."  Then  he  walks  the  length 
of  the  train  to  see  that  every  brake  is  set  as  it  should  be. 
From  the  rear  platform  he  signals  his  0.  K.,  whereat  the 
engineer  releases  the  brakes.  Then  he  walks  forward  to 
see  that  every  wheel  is  free — finally  reporting  hi  familiar 
manner  but  with  military  care,  "She's  0.  K.,  Jim.  Go  to 
it !"  Thereupon  Jim  is  likely  to  say  to  the  conductor  just 
outside  with  a  watch  in  his  hand  which  has  been  compared 
with  the  engineer's,  "You  may  fire  when  ready,  there, 
I'm  'all  set."1  At  this  the  conductor  steps  on  a  trip  which 
passes  up  to  the  despatcher's  office  the  signal,  "  Ready  "- 
and  watches  for  the  light  which  means  "Go."  On  the  in- 
stant of  its  appearing  he  calls  or  signals  to  the  engineer, 
who  opens  the  throttle  while  brakemen  and  porters  grasp 
steps  and  doors — and  the  safe  and  comfortable  conquering 
of  space  begins ! 

Since  returning  to  ordinary  pursuits,  opportunity  has  been 
taken  to  travel  hi  the  cab  and  see  what  happens  after  the 
engineer  says,  with  his  two  short  blasts,  "We're  off!" 

The  first  surprise  was  the  fireman.  Viewed  from  down 
on  the  ground,  his  responsibilities  look  simple  if  not  exactly 
easy — so  much  coal  into  the  fire-box  for  so  many  miles  at 
such  and  such  a  speed.  He  doesn't  seem  to  view  it  that 
way. 

"See  the  driver  over  there?  Well,  of  course,  he  thinks 
he's  the  whole  party  around  here.  In  a  way  he  is,  but, 
believe  me,  he  wouldn't  get  very  far  from  the  station  if  I 
wasn't  here  to  get  him  a  nice  fire  goin' !"  In  such  wise  the 
knight  of  the  shovel  and  the  poker  whispered  into  my  ear 
a  large  part  of  the  way  when  he  was  not  busy — which  wasn't 
very  much. 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  139 

"Wait  till  I  get  her  goin'  good  and  then  you  can  try  her 
out  a  bit  if  you  like.  .  .  .  Now  we  got  an  easy  stretch. 
Here  y'are.  Now  lemme  look."  Business  of  holding  his 
shovel  so  as  to  see  the  spots  hi  the  bed  of  coal  showing 
black  through  the  blaze — black  because  burnt  out.  "Yes, 
give  her  three  on  each  side  and  two  hi  the  middle-forward. 
Twist  your  shovel  with  your  wrist  as  you  let  go.  One  foot 
like  this  on  the  apron  here  from  the  tender,  the  other  in 
the  cab,  and  your  back  against  the  partition  so  you  don't 
fall  out.  Leave  your  body  loose-like,  so  you  can  get  a  good 
swing.  There,  now!  Watch  till  you  get  a  'black  stack' 
— dark  smoke. 

"Now  that's  too  bad!  That  steam-gauge  sure  'nough 
is  walkin'  back  on  you !  Here,  lemme  have  it.  If  the  coal 
gets  too  thin  in  places  we'll  go  in  late,  sure  as  shootin'.  .  .  . 
Ah,  there  she  comes  up  again.  We're  all  right !  .  .  .  Yes, 
you  see  an  engine's  all-fired  temperamental — you  have  to 
study  her — she  always  wants  coal  when  she  wants  it — and 
where — exact.  I've  always  said  you  can  easy  fool  a  fellow 
human,  but,  believe  me,  you've  got  to  go  some  to  fool  a 
fire!" 

In  between  tunes  it  was  something  doing  every  instant. 
In  the  towns  the  blower  had  to  be  turned  on  for  the  forced 
draft — or  the  fire-door  opened — and  then  readjusted  when 
the  engine  was  supplying  all  the  draft  needed.  Or  the  pick 
had  to  be  taken  to  break  up  the  lumps  pressing  against  the 
gate  that  barred  the  coal's  coming  onto  the  apron  for  the 
shovel. 

At  nearly  all  tunes  both  engineer  and  fireman  had  to 
keep  alert  to  "pick  up"  the  signals.  On  the  day  trip,  the 
fireman  would  call  across  the  cab  "Fair  block!"  and  the 
engineer,  with  a  wave  of  his  canvas-gauntletted  hand,  would 
repeat  it.  By  night  the  call  would  be,  perhaps,  "Green 
high!"  and  on  we'd  go.  When  it  was  "Yellow  low!"  the 
throttle  would  move  back  a  bit,  for  the  yellow's  meaning  is 


140        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

that  "the  next  block  is  one  you  must  not  run  past.  At 
this  moment  it  is  set  against  you.  Get  your  train  under 
good  control."  Wonderful  eyes  for  lights  and  color  they 
both  seemed  to  have ! 

"It's  a  bad  go  when  the  fog  makes  the  lights  practically 
invisible,"  says  the  engineer  when  you  sit  over  behind  him 
on  his  narrower  seat.  "One  day  I  remember  running  slow 
and  looking  up  for  the  signal  through  a  thick  paste  of  a 
fog — and  ran  past  a  brakeman  trying  to  stop  me  down  there 
from  the  ground.  Killed  three  of  the  boys  in  the  caboose 
I  smashed  into. 

"On  one  run — from  Jersey  City  to  Washington — the  en- 
gineer and  the  fireman  have  to  pick  up  in  four  hours  and 
forty  minutes — 279  miles — a  total  of  648  signals — and  they 
get  laid  off  if  they  miss  a  one !  .  .  .  No,  you  mustn't  take 
it  too  easy  when  the  fog's  bad,  or  the  despatcher's  likely  to 
say  when  you  get  in  late,  'Why,  what's  eatin'  at  you? 
There  wasn't  no  fog  hi  here ! '  They  seem  to  have  mighty 
little  fog  in  the  despatcher's  office. 

"Strike!  Not  us  engineers!  What  could  we  do  if  we 
was  beaten?  The  roadmen  and  the  switchmen — that's 
different.  They've  been  wanting — and  deserving — a  raise 
this  long  time.  Whether  they  win  or  lose  they  can  get  their 
kind  of  job  at  ordinary  unskilled  labor  anywhere." 

All  this  care  helps  the  engineer  to  realize  his  responsibility, 
and  that  responsibility,  when  reinforced  by  exceptional 
wages  and  hours  and  conditions,  spells  dignity  of  work, 
which  in  turns  spells  dignity  of  worker  and  therefore  con- 
sideration and  safety  for  the  public  he  serves. 

Things  industrial  would  certainly  be  a  lot  better  if  more 
workers  could  have  more  of  a  chance  to  feel  this  dignity  of 
the  job — the  way  the  engineer  and  the  coal-miner  do.  But 
from  what  I've  seen  so  far,  there's  a  big  crowd  of  foremen 
who  have  the  idea  that  whatever  dignity  there  may  be  in 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  141 

the  job  belongs  to  them — and  they'll  be  hanged  before 
they'll  let  anybody  else  have  any  of  it  if  call-downs  and 
curses  and  proddings  can  keep  them  out  of  it.  I'm  sure 
that  a  different  kind  of  foreman  and  more  careful  study  of 
the  different  jobs,  together  with  a  friendly  teaching  of  these 
revised  jobs,  would  make  a  big  change,  because  I'm  sure 
most  of  the  workers  are  surprisingly  anxious  to  feel  their 
job  important  and  respectable.  For  instance,  only  last 
night  I  suffered  from  a  machinist's  anxiety  on  this  score: 

"I'm  ten  years  here  and  nobody  ever  saw  my  face  dirty" 
(looking  at  me  very  pointedly),  "and  I  work  as  hard  as 
anybody  hi  the  'house.'  But  a  machinist  don't  have  to 
look  like  a  coal-heaver,  and  shouldn't — and  wouldn't,  if  he 
never  wipes  his  face  with  his  glove,  just  as  I  seen  you  do 
a  minute  ago.  Use  your  handkerchief." 

Of  course  among  unskilled  workers  handkerchiefs  are 
not  good  form,  though  I've  had  to  use  them  occasionally 
covertly  for  fear  my  lack  of  skill  in  doing  without  them — 
as,  for  instance,  in  blowing  my  nose — would  give  me  away. 

Dignity  is  generally  assumed  to  be  given  a  job  by  tonnage 
or  piece  rates  of  pay.  A  machinist  last  night  seemed  to 
think  otherwise: 

"Yes,  there's  plenty  of  loafing  now  that  we're  all  on  day 
rates.  But  there  was  twice  as  much  when  we  were  on 
piece  rates — only  that  loafing  didn't  cost  the  company  any- 
thing; we  just  waited  around  to  get  a  chance  at  some  job; 
only  on  special  rush  tunes  were  all  of  us  busy.  But  the 
company  didn't  save  very  much  at  that,  either.  Because 
when  we  did  get  a  job,  'course  we  tried  pretty  hard  to  make 
it  a  big  one.  We'd  maybe  see  that  several  other  things 
ought  to  be  done  to  the  engine  besides  the  things  called  for 
on  the  card — and  the  foreman  or  the  'super,'  he  didn't 
take  the  time  to  check  up  too  carefully;  and  besides  it  was 
a  matter  of  opinion.  So  a  thirty-cent  job  might  be  made 
into  a  two-dollar  proposition — and  besides  helping  the  ma- 


142        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

chinists  that  would  make  a  better  showing  of  work  done 
for  everybody  all  up  the  line,  from  the  foreman  to  the 
'super'  himself.  And  another  thing — now  here's  this 
throttle  valve,  it's  the  most  important  thing  in  an  en- 
gine. The  piece  rate  used  to  be  $1.80,  so  of  course 
everybody  would  hustle  to  finish  it  in  not  more  than 
three  hours.  So  he  could  keep  himself  a  sixty-cent  man, 
see?  And  then  everybody  else  on  day  rates  would  have  to 
work  two  or  three  more  hours  to  put  it  hi  and  make  it  do 
even  for  a  short  time.  Now  to-night  I've  spent  six  hours 
on  it.  Look  how  careful  I've  been !  I'm  proud  of  it.  It 
won't  take  fifteen  minutes  for  the  other  fellow  to  get  it  in 
operation,  and  it  will  last  a  lot  longer  than  any  three-hour 
job.  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  loafing  just  now.  Over  there  on  my 
bench  is  another  job  like  the  one  I  just  finished,  and  I'm 
sure  it's  for  me,  all  right.  But,  believe  me,  if  I  should  get 
busy  on  it,  the  foreman  'ud  come  along  pretty  soon  and 
say,  '  Hey  there !  Who'n  the  devil's  givin'  out  the  work  in 
this  place,  you  or  me?'  So  I'll  let  it  lie,  wouldn't  you? 
Got  a  cigarette?  Thanks.  Drop  along  again." 

Another  machinist  near  him,  by  the  way — and  a  hand- 
some, clean-overalled  and  clean-faced  fellow  he  is — has  taken 
various  fly-outs  into  other  lines  of  work,  Pullman  conductor- 
ing,  for  instance. 

"It  ain't  so  bad  except  that  you  can't  ever  plan  on  any- 
thing. You  never  know  where  you're  going  to  be.  Per- 
haps even  four  minutes  before  your  train  starts  and  you 
have  all  your  tickets  in,  you're  changed  to  take  somebody 
else's  run.  And  then  when  you  get  there  you  may  be  sent 
two  or  three  other  places  before  you  get  back  home.  I'd 
rather  be  here  at  my  lathe  and  know  that  the  chances  are 
good  for  being  home  to-night  and  here  to-morrow." 

In  the  steel-mills  it  was  surprising  to  find  the  number  of 
different  jobs  even  the  youngest  workers  seemed  to  have 
had.  Here,  as  in  coal-mining,  it's  surprising  to  find  the 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  143 

number  who  have  been  around  the  place  six,  eight,  ten, 
twenty,  and  more  years.  The  rule  of  seniority  is  probably 
a  big  factor — and,  of  course  those  working  on  the  first  and 
third,  or  more  desirable,  shifts  probably  average  still  longer. 
One  of  the  helpers  has  just  been  a  blacksmith — and  a  vic- 
tim of  this  motor  age: 

"Well,  ye  see,  all  me  materials  wuz  goin'  higher,  me  labor 
wuz  costin'  me  more'n  more — 'n  all  the  tune  hosses  wuz 
gettin'  scarcer'n  scarcer.  So  I  sold  out  in  August.  But 
this  work  is  too  dirty.  I  can't  see  it — not  yet,  anyways." 

Perhaps  he  hasn't  yet  learned  to  use  his  handkerchief 
any  better  than  I  have — so  that  when  he  does  he'll  be  very 
contented.  If  the  French  philosopher  is  right — "By  the 
work  you  know  the  workman" — he'll  also  be  happier  when 
he  gets  to  be  machinist  instead  of  helper.  Still  there  are 
obstacles  there.  One  is  that  he  became  a  helper  in  his 
forty-fifth  instead  of  his  twenty-fifth  year,  and  the  union 
rule  says  he  can't  become  a  machinist. 

But  it's  time  to  get  ready  to  go  to  work — which,  by  the 
way,  means,  because  of  the  scarcity  of  roundhouse  lockers, 
a  rather  depressing  walk  of  several  blocks  in  greasy  work- 
clothes  past  the  corner  loafers,  who  nudge  each  other  as  I 
goby. 

Hotel  de  Bath-Bed-Room, 
Monday,  June  2d. 

An  expert  has  said  that  steel  and  iron  are  recovering. 
So  I  have  asked  for  my  "time"  and  am  just  about  to  start 
off  in  hopes  of  a  job  somewhere  in  the  land  of  ingots,  billets, 
and  bars. 

At  the  present  moment  my  strongest  idea — or  maybe 
it's  more  of  a,  feeling,  and  a  sore  one  at  that — is  that,  judging 
from  some  of  my  experiences,  a  man  is  supposed  to  be  grate- 
ful if  he's  given  a  job  and  then,  after  performing  this  service 
with  the  sweat  of  his  brow — and  his  back — he's  supposed 
to  be  equally  grateful  for  being  given  the  money  due  him ! 


144        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

At  one  time  not  many  weeks  ago  the  company  where  I 
was  working  owed  me  about  seventy-five  dollars  for  three 
weeks'  work,  while  the  one  I  had  left  owed  me  about  the 
same  amount.  Of  course,  this  is  mainly  because  the  pay 
at  pay-day  is  the  money  earned,  not  in  the  period  ending 
hi  the  pay-day  but  in  the  two  weeks  preceding  that.  In 
some  cases  the  pay-day  follows  the  pay-period  by  a  shorter 
interval,  as  ten  days  or,  in  some  cases,  one  week. 

To-day,  when  I  went  back  to  the  roundhouse  to  get  my 
money,  I  was  asked  very  curtly  if  I  didn't  know  the  rule. 
Of  course  I  didn't,  because  nobody  had  told  me  a  single 
rule  of  any  kind  except  the  informal  one  called  to  me  as  a 
beginner  by  most  of  my  new  acquaintances — "Take  it 
easy.  Don't  kill  yourself !" 

"Well,  you  oughta  know  we  require  ten  days'  notice," 
the  clerk  or  paymaster,  whoever  he  was,  said. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  stay  any  longer." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  come  here  in  person  Friday." 

"But  I  want  to  be  hi  another  part  of  the  State  Friday, 
and  I've  already  lost  to-day's  work  hi  order  to  come  here 
for  it  this  morning." 

"Well,  we  can  send  it  to  you,  but  that  has  to  go  through 

the  P office,  and  it'll  take  a  long  tune.  Maybe  we  can 

fix  it  Friday  if  you'll  send  somebody,  properly  authorized." 

So  I  have  to  ask  somebody  else  to  take  tune  off  to  get  the 
money  due  me. 

I  know,  of  course,  the  impossibility  of  giving  a  worker 
his  full  money  up  to  any  minute  he  chooses  to  throw  down 
his  tools.  I  know  too  how  such  action  may  easily  per- 
suade too  frequent  sudden  quits  when  money  becomes 
tight  hi  the  worker's  affairs — with  a  rehiring,  probably,  of 
the  same  worker  a  day  or  so  later.  It  is  doubtless  a  neces- 
sary rule,  but  it  should  certainly  be  explained  to  the  worker. 
And  it  should  not  be  made  the  excuse  for  a  surliness  which 
all  but  makes  the  worker  think  that  his  employer  is  going 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  145 

to  give  him  his  money  at  some  convenient  day  only  because 
he  hates  to  see  people  starving  'round  the  place!  That 
idea  occurs,  I'm  sure,  a  lot  of  times,  because  the  paymaster 
so  often  seems  to  feel  that  he  serves  his  employer  best  when 
he  makes  his  lead-pencil  sharpest  and  saves  time  by  deliver- 
ing ultimatums  instead  of  explanations  through  that  nasty 
little  hole  in  the  glass  window — ultimatums  which  blot  out 
many  earlier  pleasant  impressions  the  worker  may  have 
been  about  to  carry  with  him.  The  effect  of  a  lot  of 
nice  welfare^  near-luxuries  can  be  cancelled  in  an  instant 
by  one  growly  paymaster;  for  he  hands  out  the  necessity 
of  life. 

It  was  in  the  same  office  of  this  unsympathetic  refuser 
of  my  money  that  the  railway  company  first  expressed  the 
assumption  that  of  course  the  money  was  all  I  or  anybody 
else  was  working  for  anyhow.  After  having  been  properly 
examined  the  day  before  and  accepted  into  the  benefit  so- 
ciety— and  he  was  an  exceptionally  courteous  doctor,  who 
explained  the  different  benefits  and  examined  me  mainly 
for  lungs  and  hernia — I  had  reported  early  at  the  office  of 
this  paymaster  chap.  I  waited  considerably  after  the  be- 
ginning of  my  shift  and  finally  asked  very  diffidently  of  the 
clerks  in  general  if  somebody  was  going  to  put  me  to  work. 
A  young  lady  shifted  her  gum  and  interrupted  her  conver- 
sation with  the  young  man  whose  desk  was  quite  noticeably 
within  hand's  reach,  long  enough  to  counsel: 

"You  should  worry — you're  gettin'  paid  for  this  all 
right." 

Perhaps  it  is  this  higher-up  tightness  on  money,  and  this 
same  higher-up  idea  that  money  is  all  the  worker  wants, 
that  help  to  that  "Don't  kill  yourself!"  propaganda. 

In  that  connection,  too,  a  lessening  of  responsibility  and 
therefore  of  interest,  all  up  and  down  the  line,  has  certainly 
come  from  government  operation.  That's  too  big  a  ques- 
tion to  discuss  here,  but  all  the  higher-ups  are  undoubtedly 


146        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

feeling  that  the  many  decisions  made  for  them  in  Washing- 
ton have  lessened  their  responsibility,  with  a  "We  should 
worry"  policy  becoming  easily  the  thing  everywhere. 

Whatever  the  cause,  it's  a  certainty  that  the  morale  of 
the  crowd  is  low.  Of  course  a  lot  of  the  specific  and  acute 
unhappinesses  a  fellow  runs  across  among  the  men  go  back 
to  no  big  underlying  cause,  though  every  one  of  these  leaves 
its  little  sore  spot.  Each  sore  spot,  when  added  to  by  an- 
other and  another,  becomes  in  turn  a  centre  of  serious  in- 
fection. It  is  doubtless  impossible  to  prevent  these  entirely, 
but  it  does  look  as  though  just  that  has  got  to  be  the  con- 
stant aim  and  effort  of  everybody  up  and  down  the  line  all 
the  time.  For  instance: 

"That's  just  the  way  I  get  it  in  the  neck  around  this 
place  all  the  time!"  said  a  boy  who  had  asked  to  have  a 
chance  at  another's  job  when  that  chap  was  off  on  Decora- 
tion Day,  and  was  told  it  had  been  given  to  another  ap- 
plicant. "These  guys  think  just  because  I'm  regular  and 
not  gettin'  off  every  other  day  that  I'm  in  love  with  this 
job  o'  mine.  So  they  hand  me  any  kind  of  a  raw  deal  and 
think  I'll  stand  for  it.  Believe  me,  if  this  happens  again, 
I'm  going  to  blow  (leave) !  And  right  from  now  on  I'm 
going  to  take  it  easier,  so  they'll  do  a  little  more  worryin' 
about  holdin'  me  like  they  do  some  of  these  other  stiffs 
around  here!" 

And  this  from  an  engineer: 

''Why,  sure,  I'm  wet — wet  all  over.  And  you'd  be  wet 
too  if  you'd  fallen  into  a  pit  full  of  water  like  I  did  a  minute 
ago  lookin'  for  my  engine.  .  .  .  Sure,  there  was  no  light ! 
Could  I  drive  an  engine  if  I  was  blind  ?  .  .  .  But  what  do 
they  care?  They  don't  have  to  walk  around  the  yard,  so 
they  should  worry.  .  .  .  Oh,  I'll  get  dried  off  someway,  but 
take  my  word,  somebody'll  hear  about  this,  all  right !" 

One  way  the  boss  "hears  from  it" — without  knowing 
he's  hearing  from  it — is  in  that  "Don't  kill  yourself"  or 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  147 

"What's  the  difference?  To  h with  it."  If  the  boss 

doesn't  care  enough  to  prevent  these  mishaps  to  the  worker, 
the  worker  can't  curse  the  foreman  without  getting  fired; 
his  only  come-back  is,  therefore,  to  be  careless  about  the 
job.  For,  after  all,  the  boss  depends  for  his  stand-in  on  his 
record  of  the  work  accomplished  for  the  company,  as  every 
worker  jolly  well  knows. 

"Watch  yourself.  Here  comes  the  boss!"  is  at  any 
moment  likely  to  throw  a  group  of  temporary  loafers  into 
various  stages  of  apparent  strenuousness.  Or  a  beginner 
is  likely  to  be  exhorted: 

"Hey  there!  For  the  love  o'  Mike,  don't  sit  down  to 
rest  there !  Get  down  under  that  engine  or  behind  the 
fence,  or  I'll  get  in  bad  when  the  boss  comes  along  and 
asks  why  I  ain't  keepin'  you  busy." 

But  I  guess  neither  boss  nor  worker  is  to  blame  entirely 
—and  each  is  getting  about  what  he  deserves.  They  just 
haven't  got  together  to  work  out  the  mighty  difficult  prob- 
lem of  making  things  run  smoothly  and  happily  and  effi- 
ciently. Anyway,  everybody  I've  come  onto  here  is  a  good 
fellow — fair-minded  and  decent — yes,  I'd  say  unusually 
clean-minded,  too.  Nobody  is  for  upsetting  things  gener- 
ally. About  the  only  growl  I  heard  come  from  a  group  of 
men,  outside  the  usual  H.  C.  L.  and  the  deprivations  of  the 
second  shift,  was  good-natured  wonderings  when  the  union 
officers  were  going  to  get  down  to  business  during  their  ses- 
sions in  Washington  and  make  a  report  on  a  number  of 
points  under  serious  discussion. 

After  I  told  my  "gang  leader"  I  wanted  to  quit,  the  news 
spread  and  pretty  soon  some  of  my  buddies  were  asking 
me  embarrassing  questions. 

"Why  you  queet ?  .  .  ."  "Where  do  you  go  from  here ?  " 
etc. 

I  tried  to  dodge  my  Emil's  bold  "How  much  you  make 
when  insurance  salesman  before  war  knocked  you  out?" 


148        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

No  use,  he  kept  after  me.  I  had  to  think  fast.  If  I 
gave  too  small  a  figure  he'd  say  I  didn't  talk  (in  spite  of  all 
my  efforts  at  bad  grammar)  like  a  man  that  earned  so 
little.  Still  I  mustn't  give  too  big  a  sum. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "one  year  I  remember  makin'  a  little 
over  $2,000!" 

It  was  all  off.    The  sum  was  too  large.    The  attitude  of 
Emil  and  the  others  changed  immediately.     "Oh!"  said' 
he,  "putty  soon  you  get  beeg  job.     Den  you  send  for  me— 
for  good  machinist." 

When  later  we  drank  a  glass  together  I  tried  to  re-estab- 
lish myself  as  his  helper,  but  to  one  who  gets  fifty-seven 
cents  for  each  of  eight  hours,  and  has  to  work  seven  days  a 
week  to  get  thirty-two  dollars — and  he  only  works  every 
other  Sunday  or  so — the  earner  of  even  an  occasional  $2,000 
is  out  of  his  class.  Still,  it's  pretty  sure  he  would  have 
known  I  was  a  liar  if  I  had  named,  say,  $1,200. 

Somehow  my  quitting  always  seems  to  be  taken  as  a 
sign — usually  the  first  sign — that  something's  phoney  about 
me  as  an  honest-to-goodness  working  man.  That's  odd, 
because  in  many  places  other  men  are  quitting — or  at  least 
just  dropping  out  of  sight.  Maybe  they  just  don't  come 
back — and  so  avoid  those  questions  about  the  future  which 
seem  to  lead  to  others  about  the  past.  But  nothing  at  all 
troublesome  has  happened  so  far,  and  the  main  thing 
is  that  while  I've  been  on  the  job  everybody  has  been 
friendly  and  frank,  and  treated  me  as  the  buddy  I've  tried 
to  be. 

I'm  sorry  to  be  leaving  the  railroad  work  without  helping 
to  push  one  of  those  big  engines.  But  the  boys  tell  me  not 
to  feel  too  bad  about  it.  "Say,  on  a  good  hot  day  goin'  up 
a  hill,  I'll  tell  the  world  a  fellow's  got  to  sweat  some  to 
keep  her  coaled  up !  And  you  have  to  watch  you  don't 
get  thrown  out  goin'  round  a  curve,  too." 

Well,  so  long  to  the  roundhouse  and  here  goes  for  the 


A  SECOND  COAL  TOWN  149 

open-hearth  or  the  hot-mill — less  grease  but  a  lot  more 
sweat !  But  grease  or  no  grease,  I  think  I  love  every  eccen- 
tric-rod and  every  dowel-pin  of  those  handsome,  big,  digni- 
fied giants  of  steel  and  steam. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  CIRCLE  OF  THE  HIRING-GATES 

IT  seemed  desirable  to  know  conditions  over  a  broad  field, 
even  though  that  meant  fairly  frequent  changes  and  more 
railway  travel  than  the  usual  unskilled  laborer  would  feel 
free  to  buy  or  willing  to  steal.  In  some  cases  it  was  evident 
that  a  newcomer  was  distrusted  as  an  unstable  floater.  In 
others  it  seemed  to  be  desirable  to  keep  any  kind  of  a 
worker  around  against  the  later  possibility  of  needing  him 
badly. 

Irontown, 
Wednesday,  June  4. 

It  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  joke — this  trying  to  get  a  job 
in  a  steel-mill.  Evidently  it's  going  to  take  several  more 
weeks  for  the  business  to  come  back  enough  to  please  the 
workers  who  were  laid  off  shortly  after  the  armistice. 

At  one  time  yesterday  the  employment  manager — or  one 
of  his  clerks — was  courteous  enough,  but  helpless. 

"You  see,  we've  got  thousands  that  have  been  laid  off 
for  weeks.  We're  trying  to  take  them  back  as  fast  as  we 
can.  Some  of  those  on  the  benches  out  there  now  we're 
putting  on  again  to-night.  You  might  stick  around  for  a 
while  and  maybe  we  can  place  you." 

The  white-coated  doctor  also  made  it  look  like  a  nice 
place  to  work,  though  the  plant  itself  is  far  from  pleasant 
in  appearance.  But,  as  often  before,  the  policeman  spoiled 
the  impression.  If  he  didn't  have  a  whip  in  his  hand  or  hi 
his  voice,  he  certainly  did  in  his  manner.  He  was  letting 
a  group  of  workers,  mostly  foreign-born,  into  the  waiting- 
room,  and  when  I  asked  if  they  were  "takin'  men  on,"  he 

150 


THE  CIRCLE  OF  THE  HIRING-GATES     151 

simply  motioned  me  to  get  in  line.  As  they  all  had  paper 
slips  I  thought  I  was  getting  into  the  wrong  pew,  but  there 
was  nothing  to  do  except  to  follow  his  growls  of  injunction 
to  the  bunch: 

"Fill  up  them  benches  there!" 

"Everybody  keep  in  his  turn!" 

I  felt  still  more  out  of  place  when  a  clerk  read  certain 
names  and  numbers,  but  finally  went  in  when  my  turn 
came — while  the  policeman  sat  and  watched  the  crowd  as 
if  they  were  so  many  western  steers. 

In  the  streets  the  talk  from  such  as  firemen  and  truck- 
drivers,  bar-tenders  and  mill- workers,  ran: 

"Sure,  they  shut  down — that  is,  almost.  The  men  was 
gettin'  organized  strong.  Just  about  the  time  they  begin 
to  think  of  talkin'  turkey  to  the  company,  along  comes  the 
company  and  puts  the  whole  plant  on  less'n  half-time. 

"Why,  we've  got  well  over  half  of  all  the  men  in  the 
plant  in  the  union,  and  we're  ready  to  go  out  any  time  our 
higher-ups  will  let  us,  and,  believe  me,  we'll  show  the 
managers  some  thin'." 

"Da  low  men  dey  wan'  a  beeg  pay.  Dey  joina  da 
union.  Da  beega  pay  fellers  dey  no  like,  and  da  beega 
company  men  dey  no  like.  I  tink  no  go." 

At  another  big  establishment  several  hours  down  the 
line  it  was  the  same  story:  "We're  trying  to  take  our  old 
men  back  as  fast  as  the  return  of  business  will  let  us — and 
there  are  2,000  of  'em  off.  But  you  might  stick  around. 
You  never  can  tell." 

There  was  no  policeman  to  spoil  the  picture,  but  the  only 
worker  I  talked  with  was  far  from  happy. 

"This?  I'll  tell  you  straight.  This  is  a  scab-hole! 
We're  gettin'  the  worst  of  it  for  fair — workin'  us  only  eight 
hours  at  thirty-six  cents !  And  they  ain't  yet  come  through 
with  the  back  pay  the  arbitration  committee  awarded  us. 
They  owe  me  over  $170  on  it  this  minute.  But  I'll  prob- 


152        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

ably  never  see  it.  ...  Naw,  they  won't  join  no  union; 
they're  all  after  every  other  feller's  job." 

At  another  gate  some  scores  of  miles  away  the  employ- 
ment manager  was  sympathetic  but,  for  the  same  reason 
as  the  others,  helpless.  They  are  keeping  their  men  busy, 
but  fear  the  necessity  of  partial  close-down  any  minute; 
are  being  hard  put  to  it  to  find  places  for  returning  soldiers. 

While  I  told  my  story  of  unsuccessful  selling  and  urged 
my  qualifications,  a  group  of  hot-mill  men  came  out,  stop- 
ping from  work  on  account  of  the  day's  terrific  heat.  He 
called  after  one  of  them  with  much  meaning  in  his  voice: 

"Well,  all  right.  But  when  you  want  to  get  some  money 
on  that  swell  auto  you  bought  last  week,  let  me  know ! 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  (I'll  have  to  expurgate  the  expletives 
and  the  tobacco-juice),  "we've  reduced  a  lot  of  men  to 
eight  hours  without  increasing  the  rate  of  thirty-six  cents 
—and  it's  pretty  hard  on  them  with  the  cost  of  living  where 
it  is. 

"Shop  committee  representing  the  men?  Great  success. 
Nearly  seventy-five  per  cent  of  all  foreigners  and  of  every- 
body voted,  and  they  surprised  us  by  electing  the  very  best 
men  in  the  place — we  couldn't  have  done  better  ourselves. 
And  they're  ironing  out  grievances  in  good  shape.  .  .  . 

"You're  right;  steel's  a  great  game  and  has  got  a  big 
future  ahead  of  it.  But  all  the  same,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  hike 
back  into  selling.  Nobody  gets  any  chance  to  work  up 
around  here  from  the  bottom  where  you  are.  A  lot  of  times 
I've  made  notes  on  likely  fellows  I've  seen  come  hi.  But 
by  the  time  I'd  got  around  to  it  again  to  give  'em  a  lift, 
they  were  gone.  It's  no  use.  The  machine's  too  big  in  a 
place  like  this  to  work  out  any  fine  points  like  that.  You 
take  my  advice  and  try  your  old  line  again." 

And  he  was  supposed  to  be  the  champion  of  the  human 
interests  in  a  plant  employing  not  more  than  1,300  men ! 

I  thanked  him  for  his  good-will  and  for  the  courtesy  of 


THE  CIRCLE  OF  THE  HIRING-GATES     153 

his  telling  me  his  own  personal  misfortunes,  and  walked 
slowly  away  with  my  head  down.  The  question  in  my 
mind  was  this:  "I  wonder  is  there  any  connection  between 
his  alibi  for  any  promotion  or  transfer  system  and  his  evi- 
dent desire  to  curry  favor  with  the  men  by  using  the  vilest 
lot  of  profanity  and  obscenity  I've  heard  in  a  long  time? 
Is  he  trying  to  make  his  personal  popularity  as  a  'good 
fellow'  hide  his  inability  to  get  a  square  deal  for  the  chaps 
he  should  be  looking  out  for?" 

After  slinking  off  with  a  disappointed  and  hopeless  hang 
of  my  shoulders  as  long  as  he  could  see  me,  I  turned  the 
corner  and  ran  to  catch  the  train  for  one  of  the  country's 
big  steel  centres  a  few  hours  away. 

" Here's  the  situation,"  one  of  the  employment  clerks 
there  put  it — and  a  very  able  looking,  kindly  chap  he  was, 
too.  "To  help  win  the  war  we  jumped  from  well  over 
10,000  to  over  30,000  men,  with  ninety-eight  per  cent  war 
work.  Now  we're  below  ten  and  no  telling  what's  going  to 
happen.  There  are  2,000  of  our  men  off  who  are  supposed 
to  be  paying  us  interest  on  mortgages  we  fixed  up  for  'em 
ourselves.  Naturally,  we  want  to  put  'em  to  work  again, 
but  it  can't  be  done  unless  we  have  orders.  To-morrow 
morning  you'll  see  500  men  outside  here,  and  we'll  take  on 
as  many  as  we  possibly  can.  .  .  .  Yes,  at  thirty-six  cents 
if  they  are  common  labor.  But  what  can  we  do?  The 
company  is  losing  money  on  this  kind  of  operation  as  it  is. 
...  In  a  few  weeks  it  may  be  worse — or  better.  If  you 
drop  back  this  way,  you'll  find  me  right  here." 

Questions  around  the  town  brought  out  that  rents  were 
very  high  in  their  opinion  (six  rooms  thirty  dollars,  three  or 
four  rooms  twenty) ;  that  many,  many  houses  were  vacant, 
some  of  the  men  getting  work  in  other  kinds  of  plants  under 
the  same  management  while  others  with  mortgaged  houses 
had  to  stick  around  in  hopes  of  a  job  some  morning;  that 
the  foreigners  were  hard  to  make  stick  in  the  unions,  es- 


154        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

pecially  if  they  had  ever  been  "stung"  by  an  unhappy 
union  experience;  that  certain  Slavic  peoples  were  the 
worst  " booze-fighters,"  and  that  "there'll  be  a  lot  more 
drinkin'  after  July  1 — everybody'll  make  it  hisself." 

Iron  town, 
June  5th. 

It's  not  important  because  I'm  not  trying  to  find  out 
how  I  feel  under  these  various  conditions.  But  still,  I  find 
it  amazing  to  notice  how  depressed  I  get  after  even  a  few 
hours  of  such  job-askings — with  the  drooping  chin  and 
shoulders,  averted  eyes,  lowered  voice,  and  bad  grammar 
of  the  jobless  man — and  such  job-refusals  as  to-day's.  In 
between  comes,  of  course,  the  very  unpleasant  knowledge 
that  people  who  pass  me  on  the  street  turn  to  stare  at  my 
old  clothes  and  run-down  appearance.  After  a  day  of  such 
walkings,  askings,  and  turn-downs,  it  seems  to  take  all  the 
will  power  I  can  muster  to  keep  from  feeling  as  down-at- 
the-heel,  hopeless,  and  generally  useless  and  worthless  as  I 
look.  All  the  memories  of  years  of  interesting  work,  help- 
ful friends  and  hopeful  aspirations,  seem  somehow  to  grow 
just  as  leary  of  me  in  my  old  clothes  and  hangdog  ah*  as 
are  the  passers-by. 

Equally  surprising,  too,  is  the  way  all  these  come  back 
and  sort  of  shake  me  by  the  hand  to  make  up  again  the 
moment  I  get  signed  up  for  the  job.  So  I'm  sure  I'll  feel 
better  when  I  can  happen  to  run  somewhere  into  a  steel 
job  in  the  next  week  or  so  of  search. 

Meanwhile  I  find  myself  enjoying  the  men  in  the  smoking- 
car,  many  of  whom  seem  glad  to  tell  the  story  of  their  lives 
in  terms  of  jobs: 

"Well,  my  line'd  be  called  'special  messenger.'  F'r  in- 
stance, I'm  sent  by  the  express  company  to-night  to  see 
that  a  carload  of  berries  don't  get  side-tracked  anywhere. 
I'll  probably  find  another  man  at  the  big  station  here,  and 


S'S 


THE  CIRCLE  OF  THE  HIRING-GATES     155 

he'll  see  it  into  N ,  and  I'll  go  back  home  on  the  next 

train.  Once  I  helped  through  from  Texas  to  New  York 
a  train-load  of  spinach !  The  express  charge  sure  was  a 
lulu — over  $11,000!  A  delay  anywhere  in  transit  would 
have  ruined  the  whole  biz.  .  .  .  Before  I  got  into  this 
line?  Oh,  I  sold  subscriptions  to  an  illustrated  weekly  on 
the  instalment  plan  to  factory  and  mine  workers.  For- 
eigners ?  I  should  say  the  foreigners  did  buy  it !  You  see 
they  wanted  the  pictures  even  if  they  couldn't  always  read 
the  explanations — or  their  kids  read  'em  for  'em.  I'll  say 
I  helped  some  to  Americanize  these  fellows  with  those 
weekly  pictures." 

But  I've  nearly  forgotten  to  mention  that  before  leaving 
S —  -  I  talked  with  one  of  the  chief  organizers  of  the  iron 
and  steel  workers,  by  the  name  of  Foster.  He  seems  to 
think  he  has  his  own  troubles  in  spreading  his  local  organ- 
izers around  enough  to  keep  the  different  local  unions 
satisfied. 

"They  call  me  a  radical,  but  I'm  only  anxious  to  get 
somewhere;  while  all  the  old  fellows  say:  'Oh,  yes,  we've 
tried  to  get  the  big  plants  too  many  times  already ! '  Why, 
if  we  could  only  get  the  heads  of  these  other  twenty-four 
internationals  anxious — genuinely  interested — we'd  have  the 
whole  industry  in  a  month !" 

He  gave  me  the  impression  of  not  being  altogether  sure 
that  he  could  interest  them,  and  he  was  evidently  surprised 
to  find  so  many  workers  joining  the  union  in  plants  which 
are  reported  happy  and  contented,  adding:  "Of  course, 
where  the  men  have  right  wages,  hours,  working  conditions, 
treatment,  and  all  that,  and  are  happy,  we  ain't  got  a  chance 
with  'em." 

He's  a  very  quiet  fellow  of  the  intellectual  type,  partly 
red-haired,  mainly  bald — not  much  magnetism,  and,  I 
judge,  a  poor  speaker.  His  chief,  Fitzpatrick,  is  big,  mag- 
netic, diplomatic,  a  wonderful  speaker,  and  a  splendid  pre- 


156        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

sider.  How  far  the  two  will  go  in  the  direction  of  their 
reputed  earlier  syndicalist  connections  is  a  question,  but 
together  they  certainly  look  like  heady,  hustling,  professional 
organizers.  Tighe,  the  president  of  the  Amalgamated  Asso- 
ciation of  Iron,  Steel  and  Tin-plate  Workers  impresses  one 
as  conservative,  reliable,  able,  and  well-balanced.  I  judge 
he's  not  particularly  friendly  with  the  other  two — or  with 
the  whirlwind  campaign  for  members  which  has,  as  it  were, 
been  forced  on  his  organization  through  them. 

"Foster  grew  up  in  Chicago  hi  a  catch-as-catch-can  sort 
of  way  that  made  him  an  '  anti ' — and  would  sure  make  any- 
body the  same,"  said  a  man  who  should  know.  "After  all 
sorts  of  unions  had  tried  to  organize  the  stock-yards  work- 
ers, always  separately  and  always  unsuccessfully,  he  came 
along  with  the  proposal  of  a  sort  of  federated  whirlwind 
campaign  idea.  When  the  combined  drive  was  organized 
under  the  leadership  of  representatives  of  all  the  unions  that 
could  find  members  in  the  yards,  such  as  steamfitters,  elec- 
tricians, etc.,  he  was  made  secretary.  It  worked.  While 
the  packers  do  not  deal  with  the  unions,  nevertheless  a 
great  many  advantages  have  been  secured.  At  the  St. 
Paul  convention  of  the  American  Federation  of  Labor  it 
was  voted  to  use  the  same  plan  under  the  committee  for 
organizing  iron  and  steel  workers,  with  representation  of 
the  twenty-four  unions  involved,  and  with,  naturally, 
Foster  as  secretary." 


CHAPTER  VII 

WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS 

"Shipyardia," 
Monday,  June  9th. 

A  man  and  a  citizen  again!  A  do-er  and  a  be-er — a 
be-er  because  a  do-er.  I've  got  a  job.  I'm  to  be  a  builder 
of  boats — for  those  that  "go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships." 

It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  this  morning  when  the 
policeman  condescended  to  nod  as  I  asked  him,  in  the  em- 
ployment office,  if  they  were  taking  men  on.  A  little  later 
a  straw-hatted  young  blood  took  my  alias  and  "Cleveland, 
0."  for  an  address,  told  me  there  was  no  job  for  any  "semi- 
skilled," put  me  down  as  a  helper,  got  my  signature  to  ac- 
cept the  company's  arrangements  for  accident  compensa- 
tion, and  passed  me  out  to  the  doctor.  He  soon  had  on 
my  chest  his  rubber  gloves — which  protected  him  from  the 
touch  of  hundreds  of  skins  but  did  not  prevent  passing  all 
those  touches  on  to  me.  I  think  I'll  go  into  quick  con- 
sumption if  I  have  to  take  any  more  jobs  and  cough  for  all 
the  doctors  as  hard  as  he  made  me  cough  for  him  while  he 
examined  for  rupture.  When  he  finished  he  said  I  must 
have  strained  myself  lately.  I  think  I  know  when  it  hap- 
pened— under  one  of  those  engines.  But  he  may  be  a  crank 
on  such  matters,  from  the  way  I  heard  him  making  other 
poor  fellows  cough  their  heads  off  while  I  was  dressing. 
"Cough,  I  said!  Don't  you  know  how  to  cough?"  he  ex- 
ploded as  one  chap,  evidently  much  confused,  made  a  sort 
of  dying  gladiator  gasp  or  intake  instead  of  a  cough. 

The  company's  boarding-house  makes  a  very  good  im- 
pression. The  beds  look  clean;  with  not  more  than  two 

157 


158        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

or  three  (all  single)  in  each  room.  The  shower-baths  ap- 
pear fine;  the  food  for  one  meal  at  least  has  been  quite  fair. 
Apparently  the  bed  and  board  are  well  worth  the  charge 
of  ten  dollars  per  week. 

"Be  here  at  seven- thirty  to-morrow  morning"  is  good 
music  for  jobless  ears. 

Tuesday,  June  10. 

Have  hardly  done  a  stroke  of  work  to-day,  though  I  feel 
just  as  tired  as  if  the  work  had  been  hard  and  justified  its 
four  dollars  and  thirty-two  cents  for  eight  hours. 

It  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  see  thousands  of  men  pour  out 
of  the  trains  from  the  city  and  flow  into  the  gates  and 
through  the  time-clock  runways,  there  to  disappear  in  the 
direction  of  the  steel  hulls  which  loomed  up  about  the  tall 
scaffolds  on  the  ways.  After  the  policeman  let  us  in  we 
were  marched  off  to  a  room  under  one  of  the  ten  great 
ways  or  hull  platforms.  There  we  were  exhorted: 

"Now,  men,  if  any  of  you  are  anyways  a-scary  of  scaf- 
folds, now's  the  tune  to  say  so.  It  wastes  a  lot  of  time  to 
assign  a  man  to  a  job  and  then  have  him  take  one  look 
down  to  the  ground  and  come  back  and  want  us  to  start 
him  all  over  again.  .  .  .  Well,  then  you're  all  game,  are 
you?  All  right,  you  foremen,  take  your  pick." 

I  went  off  with  one  foreman  and  with  two  or  three  other 
beginners,  mounted  the  incline  that  took  us  to  the  noisy 
and  busy-looking  deck  of  a  steel  monster.  As  one  chap 
came  up,  the  foreman  said,  "Go  with  him.  He  ain't  got 
nothin'  for  you  to  do,  but  that's  all  right."  Before  I  got 
off,  another  and  a  more  aggressive  reamer  came  along  and 
took  me  with  him.  But  I  got  only  as  far  as  a  hole  and  a 
ladder  leading  down  below  when  he  motioned  me  to  wait  for 
him — the  noise  of  pounding  and  riveting  made  words  almost 
impossible. 

When  I  began  to  look  around  I  decided  that  many  others 
must  have  been  advised  to  wait  as  I  was.  Although  the 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  159 

noise  made  it  seem  as  if  every  man  and  boy  in  the  crowd 
covering  the  deck  must  be  killing  himself  with  overwork, 
the  eye  testified  that  there  were  many  idle  hands.  Two  or 
three  hours  later  this  was  not  so  noticeable. 

After  I  had  sat  there  for  close  to  an  hour  wearing  an  "  I'm- 
willing-  to-  work-and-only-waiting-for-my-boss"  expression,  he 
returned  and  motioned  me  down  the  ladder.  And  there  I've 
stayed  all  day  since,  in  practically  solitary  confinement — 
because  the  noise  is  so  fearful  that  all  conversation  is  out 
of  the  question.  Such  din  as  a  pneumatic  hammer  and  a 
few  ship-builders  can  make  in  a  small  room  almost  com- 
pletely enclosed  in  steel !  Luckily  I  found  some  cotton  to 
put  in  my  ears,  but  even  then  it  was  deafening.  And  when 
somebody  up  on  deck  would  hit  one  of  the  steel  flooring 
sheets  above  us  with  a  sledge,  I'd  jump  with  the  sheer  pain 
of  it!  Meanwhile  the  boss  had  next  to  nothing  to  do;  he 
would  sit  for  an  hour  like  a  bump  on  a  log,  then  jump  up 
and  ream  out  a  few  rivet-holes,  then  perhaps  go  up  on  deck 
wearing  for  camouflage  the  air  of  a  man  who's  on  an  errand 
— and  be  gone  for  another  hour.  When  I  would  finally  go 
up  to  get  a  little  farther  from  the  din,  he'd  find  me  and 
again  motion  me  down  below  where  I  could  do  my  loafing 
less  observed.  Perhaps  then  he'd  have  me  hand  him  some- 
thing— followed  by  an  hour  of  nothing  but  observing  how 
the  passer-boys  picked  up  the  red-hot  rivets  as  they  came 
flying  down  from  the  heater-boy  above  on  deck,  and  put 
them  into  the  proper  hole,  where,  in  an  instant,  the  riveter 
pushed  them  through  and  commenced  hammering  the  hot 
metal — at  first  quietly  as  the  rivet  gave  way  and  filled  the 
hole,  then  noisily  as  it  cooled  and  the  hammer  came  onto 
the  resounding  steel  of  the  plate  forming  the  ship's  side. 

It  seems  the  riveter  inside,  the  holder-on,  who  opposes 
the  riveter  with  his  hammer-gun  on  the  scaffold  outside, 
and  the  heater-boy  on  deck  divide  $5.50  among  them 
(not  evenly)  for  every  one  hundred  rivets,  and  how  they 


160        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

do  work  if  the  driver  in  my  compartment  is  any  sample ! 
It's  a  pleasure  to  watch  his  energy  and  his  muscles  and 
his  skill  in  the  handling  of  his  heavy  hand-tool.  The 
electric  welder  with  his  shield-glass  before  his  eye  is  an 
absorbed  worker,  too,  though  you  can't  look  directly  at  the 
beautiful  light  he  makes.  But  you  soon  get  tired  of  watch- 
ing workers  do  exactly  the  same  thing  time  and  again,  as 
well  as  enjoying  the  strings  of  light  where  the  sun  shines 
through  the  rivet  holes  or  the  shooting-stars  of  the  hot 
rivets.  Strangely  enough,  in  the  midst  of  the  worst  noises 
my  ears  ever  had  to  stand,  my  greatest  desire  was  to  go  to 
sleep.  This  I  didn't  give  in  to,  so  that  when  my  reamer 
walked  over  in  my  direction  I  could  rise  with  an  interested 
expression  and  then  sit  down  when  he  winked  and  passed 
on — to  sit  on  some  softer  plank  behind  me. 

It  wasn't  so  bad  in  the  afternoon,  but  most  of  the  morn- 
ing there  would  be  an  average  of,  say,  three  men  loafing  in 
our  little  steel-bound  club-house  to  every  five  or  six  work- 
ing. A  big  boss  could  be  spotted  by  his  shoes  and  legs  on 
the  ladder,  and  an  alibi  appearance  of  activity  arranged 
before  his  eyes  descended.  On  deck  such  soldiering  would 
easily  be  spotted.  Personally  I  was  at  my  buddy's  elbow 
whenever  he  was  on  the  job,  but  counting  all  the  tunes  I 
handed  him  a  hammer  or  something,  I  think  a  liberal  esti- 
mate of  my  day's  exertion  in  muscle  would  be  five  minutes. 
But  my  ear-drums! — they  have  had  the  busiest  little  day 
of  their  lives,  bar  none.  They  have  evidently  kicked  up 
trouble  about  it,  for  my  head  feels  as  if  a  sympathetic 
strike  were  on. 

This  noon,  when  the  workers  swarmed  down  from  the 
ways  to  eat  their  lunch  hi  every  conceivable  spot,  a  capable- 
looking  man  of  the  American  carpenter  type  told  me  how 
things  were  going  with  him: 

"Yes,  I  remember  I  was  here  five  days  before  I  found 
anybody  who  really  needed  anybody  to  help  him.  I  guess 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  161 

those  fellows  want  a  helper  so  he  can  hand  'em  dignity 
mostly." 

He  was  full  of  a  more  recent  experience: 

"Last  week  I  got  strapped  for  money.  So  I  asked  about 
gettin'  some  of  the  money  due  me.  Well,  I  signed  this  and 
that,  and  went  here  and  there  and  all  over  the  yard  accord- 
ing to  everybody's  directions.  When  I  got  my  money  I'd 
been  firm'  myself  all  this  time — it  seems  that  was  the  only 
way  I  could  get  it.  So  there  was  nothin'  for  me  to  do  but 
to  take  my  money  and  coat  and  my  dinner  and  go  home 
to  loaf  the  rest  of  the  day.  Then  Monday — that's  yesterday 
—I  had  to  come  down  to  that  place  they  call  the  'Service 
Buildin"  (huh  !)  and  ask  for  a  job  and  be  rehired.  And  so 
here  I  am  again — on  a  brand-new  job  to-day  'a  if  I'd  had 
never  been  here  before.  So  you  see  I  had  to  pay  two  days' 
wages,  or  a  total  of  nearly  nine  dollars,  to  get  what  was  owin' 
to  me — and  all  I  wanted  was  a  small  loan — just  a  part  of 
it,  say  fifteen  dollars.  Ain't  that  a  devil  of  a  note,  now?" 

To-night,  when  I  came  down  to  the  ground  from  my  steel 
cell  and  the  deck,  I  had  no  time-card  to  punch.  The  time- 
clerks  were  greatly  disgusted. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  to  the  Service  Building  and  get  one 
when  you  were  told?  .  .  .  Why,  of  course  you  were  told. 
You  must  have  been.  That's  the  system.  You've  lost 
your  day  now." 

Finally  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  get  proper  credit 
at  the  office  to-morrow. 

It  was  about  all  I  could  do  to  walk  home  to-night  at  four. 
But  that  shower-bath  helped  a  lot.  I'll  hope  to-morrow 
will  make  it  possible  to  say  I've  got  work  as  well  as  a  job. 
I'm  all  in  to-night  for  some  reason — I  mostly  suspicion  those 
ears. 

Thursday,  June  12. 

It's  a  shame  to  do  it  after  only  two  days  of  work,  but  un- 
less I  feel  a  lot  better  in  the  next  hour  or  so  I  guess  I'll  have 


162        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

to  quit — instead  of  loafing  around  the  next  two  days  as 
the  doctor  told  me  to  do  last  night. 

Yesterday,  thank  Heaven,  there  was  less  noise  to  stand 
because  of  being  assigned  to  an  outside  reamer.  We  stayed 
up  on  a  scaffold  nearly  forty  feet  above  the  ground,  and 
easily  made  sure  to  keep  enough  well-reamed  holes  ahead 
of  the  riveter  working  inside  the  hull  and  our  holder-on 
there  on  the  scaffold  with  us,  something  over  forty  feet 
from  the  ground. 

During  the  whole  day  the  reamer  had  to  be  helped  to 
hold  his  machine  for  as  much  as  an  hour  and  a  half,  on  a 
liberal  estimate.  All  the  rest  of  the  day  I  sat  on  the  scaf- 
fold with  my  back  in  a  comfortable  position,  or  climbed 
into  the  shell  where  the  sides  had  not  been  put  on,  and  where 
I  could  stretch  out  without  being  seen  from  below  and  still 
be  in  call  of  my  buddy.  A  good  deal  of  the  tune  he  was 
there  beside  me.  At  other  times  it  was  interesting  to  watch 
the  men,  with  the  help  of  the  great  tall  church  steeple  of  a 
crane,  pushing  and  crow-barring  and  sledging  the  long 
girders  into  place  for  making  the  keel  at  the  bow. 

The  reamer  does  seem  to  have  an  easy  time  of  it.  Why 
he  has  to  be  assigned  wholly  to  one  gang  alone,  I  don't 
know,  unless  it  is  that  sometimes  the  riveting  gang  might 
need  him  badly  for  a  lot  of  holes  and  let  out  a  mighty 
holler  if  they  couldn't  get  him.  Which  they  surely  would 
not  hesitate  to  do,  because  every  rivet  means  money  to 
them.  It  makes  you  almost  weary  to  see  'em  sweat.  Be- 
fore noon  yesterday  our  gang  hammered  417  rivets  into  place. 

"Just  think  o'  that!"  said  a  foreman  as  he  saw  it. 
"Them  guys  divvy  up  between  'em  about  twenty- three 
dollars  for  that  half  day's  work!" 

Both  the  holder-on  and  my  reamer  were  Lithuanians  who 
were  beginning  to  look  very  much  like  young  American 
"sports,"  but  in  spite  of  their  years  here  could  speak  ex- 
tremely little  English. 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  163 

Along  about  three,  eyes  and  head  were  aching  enough  to 
permit  a  good  chance  to  see  what  the  company  dispensary 
would  do  to  make  me  feel  like  standing  up  to  my  arduous 
duties  the  next  day.  I  rather  expected  to  observe  the  same 
methods  as  in  an  earlier  plant  where  the  doctor  took  my  word 
for  it  that  I  felt  "cold-y  and  sore-throat-y "  and  without 
taking  any  steps  to  confirm  my  home-made  diagnosis, 
gave  me  a  horse-size  dose  of  epsom  and  Jamaica  ginger. 
I  had  in  mind,  too,  the  army  doctor  who  was  reported  to 
have  given  eighty  glasses  of  salts  to  the  soldier  boys  who 
marched  past  him  after  their  temperature  had  been  dis- 
covered and  reported  by  a  lieutenant,  and,  in  the  flu  epi- 
demic, administered  the  dose  to  them  all  out  of  the  one  glass ! 

But  I  could  not  have  been  given  more  consideration. 
An  assistant  took  my  temperature  carefully,  counted  my 
pulse,  and  looked  at  my  tongue.  The  only  hardship  I 
suffered  was  to  see  another  doctor  pull  off,  in  what  I  thought 
was  a  heartless  manner,  the  nail  of  a  fellow-worker,  assur- 
ing him  meanwhile  in  a  jocular  fashion:  "Why,  my  boy,  I 
wouldn't  hurt  you  for  the  world." 

"With  a  temperature  of  102  you  aren't  safe,  and  your 
buddies  aren't  safe  with  you  on  that  scaffold,"  the  doctor 
said  when  he  got  his  assistant's  report.  "Take  these  pills 
and  loaf  around  for  a  couple  of  days.  Remember,  you  can't 
get  back  on  the  job  until  you  get  my  0.  K." 

This  morning  I  can  appreciate  better  than  ever  the  tre- 
mendous importance  for  evil  and  good  of  the  close  connec- 
tion between  our  physiological  health  and  well-being  and  our 
psychological  attitudes  and  feelings  toward  those  around 
us.  By  the  time  I  got  up  to  my  room  yesterday  I  felt 
positively  sorry  that  somebody,  had  not  spoken  to  me  hi 
a  way  that  would  have  permitted  me  to  unload  all  the 
vitriol  that  my  aches  and  pains  and  fatigues  had  by  this 
time  piled  up  inside  me.  I've  no  question  but  that  many 
workers  who  are  either  sick  or  doing  hard  work  for  very 


164        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

long  hours  day  after  day  and  month  after  month  in  order 
to  get  more  money,  are  more  or  less  permanently  in  my 
mood — and  therefore  over  ready  to  listen  while  the  agi- 
tator— who  usually  has  himself  been  through  that  same 
thing — directs  all  his  vitriol  against  the  industrial  system. 

Lying  on  my  bed  all  last  evening  gave  good  opportunity 
for  a  chat  with  my  Polish  roommate.  Ever  since  he  struck 
this  country,  nearly  ten  years  ago,  he  has  been  a  heater  on  a 
hot-mill,  and  a  wonderful  pair  of  arms  and  shoulders  it  has 
given  him.  In  fact  he's  as  clean-cut  a  bundle  of  175  pounds 
of  young  manhood  as  any  one  could  wish  to  see — and  he 
gets  my  complete  respect  as  he  puts  out  the  light  and  kneels 
down  in  his  B.  V.  D.'s  by  his  bed  for  what  must  be  a  long 
statement  of  his  wishes  to  his  particular  saint.  Life  seems 
to  leave  him  a  good  deal  to  ask  for,  too: 

"Nine  year  I  work  hot-mill,  alia  time  same  place.  Work 
stop  dere.  Stay  two  mont's — wait — alia  time  no  job.  One 
mont'  I  try  New  York — every  day  look  for  steel  job.  No 
good.  Wife  she  seeck  last  winter — flu.  Doctor  he  say  she 
no  can  live.  Hospital — she  cost  forty  dollars  week.  Baby 
come — baby  die — wife  she  no  die.  .  .  .  Now  must  work 
here  one  mont'  before  catch  money  for  first  two  week.  To- 
day I  got  one  dollar.  .  .  .  What  do  all  dees  mont'  I  no 
can  tell." 

And  he  can  work  here  only  three  days  a  week,  at  that ! 

Thursday  afternoon, 
June  12. 

I  think  I've  already  mentioned  the  impression  a  fellow 
gets  that  lots  of  paymasters  seem  to  hate  to  give  up  money 
after  the  worker  has  fulfilled  his  part  of  the  bargain. 

This  morning  I  told  the  doctor  that  I  had  decided  to 
quit.  After  making  two  trips  to  the  service  department  I 
got  my  check-slip  back  with  his  instructions  to  get  my 
" termination  notice"  from  the  foreman  for  my  money. 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS          165 

That  gentleman  did  not  believe  my  story  about  a  letter 
from  my  wife  wanting  me  to  come  home: 

"If  I  was  to  tell  my  boss  I  had  such  a  letter  and  couldn't 
produce  it,  he'd  call  me  a  liar,  too."  An  extremely  diplo- 
matic way,  I'd  say,  of  calling  me  a  liar — which  I  was. 

I  objected  that  I  had  done  everything  the  company 
asked  me,  that  it  was  my  money  and  this  a  free  country, 
etc.,  but  to  no  purpose. 

The  time-office  clerks  had  treated  me  nicely  the  day  be- 
fore so  I  went  hi  and  repeated  it  all.  After  the  clerk  had 
said  for  the  fourth  time,  "Nothing  doing.  You  gotta  wait 
till  pay-day.  That's  the  rule,"  I  started  away,  permitting 
myself  to  remark,  "Some  system!" 

It  was  delivered  in  good  enough  mood;  any  worker  would 
have  said  it,  especially  since  there  was  no  effort  whatever 
to  show  that  the  rule  had  any  reason  behind  it.  But  the 
clerk  took  offense: 

"If  you  don't  like  the  system  you  know  d well  what 

you  can  do!"  he  shouted. 

I  smiled  to  myself  and  moved  to  the  door.  But  as  I  did 
so  I  could  see  every  clerk  in  the  room  raise  his  eyes  and 
gaze  toward  me  and  silently  give  me  the  ha-ha  of  his  scorn 
and  contempt.  By  the  time  I  had  passed  them  all  and  got 
outside  the  door,  these  silent  derisions  from  better-dressed 
people  than  myself,  sitting  in  the  seats  of  might  and  man- 
agement, had  served  to  make  me  feel  about  two  feet  high — 
and  therefore  extremely  hurt  and  mad.  I  wanted  to  go 
back  and  land  something  on  the  jaw  of  my  assailant — for 
he  was  a  psychological  assailant.  But  I  reflected  that  all 
my  authority — the  whole  machine  of  management — was 
on  his  side.  So  as  I  walked  back  for  a  final  statement  at 
the  Service  Building  all  my  anger  directed  itself  toward, 
not  the  time-clerk,  but  the  whole  establishment  of  which 
he  was  a  part. 

Of  course,  any  one  can  say,  "Now  be  logical.     That  chap 


166       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

is  only  a  small  cog  in  the  whole  machine.  The  manager 
would  be  sorry  if  he  knew  that  he  butted  in,"  etc.,  etc. 
But  when  a  fellow's  self-respect  is  smarting  the  way  mine 
was  just  then,  logic  doesn't  get  a  ghost  of  a  show,  and  from 
that  moment  to  this  I've  had  no  use  for  the  company  from 
top  to  bottom — and  the  doctor's  heartless  pulling  off  the 
worker's  nail  looks  now  more  representative  to  me  than  his 
considerate  taking  of  my  temperature.  Why  should  that 
whipper-snapper  of  a  pompadoured  tune-clerk  "bawl  me 
out" ?  These  paymaster  offices  certainly  do  roil  my  blood ! 
I'm  sorry  I'm  learning  to  swear — it's  very  hard  work  to 
keep  from  it  right  here.  And  the  point  is  that  I  want  to 
curse  the  company  as  much  as  I  want  to  curse  that  clerk 
who  uses  the  back  of  his  head  only  to  hold  his  hat  on,  but 
who,  of  course,  is  bold  enough  to  take  refuge  in  that  mock 
bravery  with  which  all  the  foremen  and  others  who  know 
authority  is  on  their  side  bolster  themselves — "Well,  if  you 
don't  like  it  you  know  what  you  can  do." 

"The  petty  tyranny  of  little  minds  in  brief  authority!" 
My,  but  that  makes  me  mad — and  I  know  from  many 
mouths  that  it  makes  numberless  other  workers  no  less  so. 

But  to  try  to  calm  down  and  go  on.  At  the  Service  Build- 
ing the  boy  ultimatumed: 

"You'll  have  to  send  hi  your  badge-check  and  we'll  send 
you  the  money — if  you  can't  stick  around  until  pay-day." 

"Well,  here  it  is — I'll  leave  it  now,"  I  said. 

"No,  that  won't  do;  you  must  send  it  by  mail — like  that 
pile  of  them  over  there." 

Yesterday  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  me,  but  now 
that  I've  met  that  time-clerk,  I'm  wondering  if  the  com- 
pany wants  that  check  entrusted  to  the  post-office  in  the 
hope  that  it  may  stand  a  chance  to  go  astray. 

If  that  thought  occurs  to  me,  it's  pretty  sure  to  occur 
with  more  force  to  thousands  of  my  recent  buddies — and  so 
increase  distrust. 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  167 

I  had  hoped  to  get  in  a  word  about  the  process  of  ship- 
building— how  the  ore  comes  to  the  docks  of  a  near-by 
company,  is  passed  from  blast-furnace  to  Bessemer  and 
open-hearth  and  rolling-mill  until  it  lies  as  a  great  steel 
sheet  cut  to  size  and,  still  warm,  ready  to  have  holes  punched 
in  it  according  to  the  pattern;  how  this  sheet  is  then  swung 
overhead  by  the  church  steeple  until  it  lies  hi  the  right 
place,  say,  on  the  deck;  how  men  sledge-hammer  "drift- 
pins"  in  the  holes  of  one  sheet  until  they  come  near  to  fit- 
ting those  of  the  adjoining  one,  ready  for  the  bolter-ups, 
who  proceed  with  their  bolts  further  to  hold  the  sheets  in 
place  together  as  though  with  steel  basting- threads;  how 
the  reamers  drill  out  the  unevennesses  of  the  corresponding 
holes  so  that  the  riveters  can  get  the  large  rivets  through, 
etc.,  etc.  But,  thanks  to  that  important  pompadoured  per- 
sonification of  unpleasantness,  I've  no  stomach  just  now 
for  such  matters. 

I  guess  I  can  be  decent  enough  to  say  that  the  company 
houses  at  twenty-two  dollars  per  month,  with  free  water, 
seem  very  attractive  with  their  six  rooms  and  bath. 

" That's  because  they  was  built  before  the  war,"  said  a 
contractor.  "These  we're  finishing  now  are  no  better 
hardly  and  will  have  to  fetch  thirty  dollars.  Nobody  but 
rollers  and  men  like  that'll  be  able  to  live  in  'em." 

Perhaps  I  ought  also  to  add  that  the  ship  workers  look 
to  me  like  a  rougher  and  also  a  younger  set  of  men  than 
I've  seen  elsewhere — possibly  because  it  is  a  new  and  per- 
haps short-lived  industry.  Many  seem  to  be  of  the  float- 
ing type.  Whether  that  is  the  cause  of  a  pretty  careless 
management  or  the  result,  I  don't  know.  I  wish  somebody 
would  tell  me  whether  it's  all  hang-over  from  the  days  of 
the  "cost-plus"  contract.  That  would  explain  why  I  am 
to  be  paid,  as  I  hope,  some  sweet  day,  something  like  eight 
dollars  for  about  ninety-five  minutes  of  what  might  be  called 
work.  But  I'm  not  going  to  feel  bad  about  it;  the  wear 


168        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

and  tear  on  my  ears  on  the  job  and  on  my  disposition  in 

the  pay-office  makes  the  money  seem  perfectly  well  earned. 

I'm  only  sorry  not  to  have  learned  more  about  ship-building. 
My  grip  is  packed  and  I  leave  for  pastures  fresh — and, 

doubtless,  pay-clerks  ditto. 

Atlantic  City, 
Sunday,  June  15. 

One  of  the  most  noticeable  of  all  the  high  spots  of  this 
annual  convention  of  the  American  Federation  of  Labor  is 
the  skill  with  which  the  body  does  its  business.  Mr. 
Gompers,  I  would  hazard,  can  hardly  be  excelled  anywhere 
in  America  as  a  presiding  officer.  He  never  lets  the  meet- 
ing get  away  from  him  for  a  moment,  and  at  the  right 
point  seems  to  bring  in  the  suggestion  which  clears  matters. 
He  is  certainly  fair — in  fact  he  is  said  to  follow  the  policy 
of  allowing  the  trouble  makers  so  much  parliamentary 
rope  that  they  generally  succeed  in  strangling  themselves. 
For  a  man  of  his  years  he  has  a  remarkably  resonant  voice. 
To  be  sure,  he  has  had  lots  of  practice,  having  presided  at 
thirty-eight  out  of  thirty-nine  of  the  Federation's  yearly 
conventions ! 

The  delegates  as  a  body  appear  to  me  almost  as  remark- 
able as  he.  Their  voices  are  much  better  suited  to  transact 
business  of  this  kind  than  would  be  those  of,  say,  such  a 
group  of  representative  business  men  as  could  be  called 
together  by  any  national  commercial  organization.  (I  recall 
one  chairman  at  one  such  national  convention  not  long  ago, 
whose  voice  and  bearing  made  him  a  laughing-stock.) 
And  as  for  rules  of  order,  this  crowd  has  the  whole  country 
beaten  badly.  Still  better,  most  of  them  seem  to  talk  pretty 
good  sense  about  their  various  organization  problems. 
Some  of  them  are  master  statesmen  on  even  such  subjects 
as  the  League  of  Nations.  Naturally  enough  they  feel  very 
strongly  about  the  various  issues  because  these  touch  very 
closely  their  bread  and  butter;  or  if  not  that,  then  their 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  169 

standing  and  self-respect  as  leaders.  So  they  have  that 
high  pitch  of  emotion  and  earnestness  which  are  essential 
to  real  eloquence.  Some  of  them  are  said  to  take  lessons 
in  public  speaking,  but  others  who  have  been  attending 
these  conventions  for  years  because  of  their  position  at  the 
head  of  one  or  other  of  the  internationals,  appear  to  get 
enough  practice  to  make  them  past  masters  in  the  influ- 
encing of  the  crowd. 

As  a  body,  too,  I  must  say  that  the  delegates  are  a  su- 
perior-looking lot  of  men  and  women.  Naturally  they  rep- 
resent a  great  amount  of  sifting — about  600  out  of  a  total 
membership  claimed  to  be  over  3,000,000.  Of  course,  a 
very  large  proportion  of  these  millions  seldom  go  to  the 
local  halls  to  debate  or  to  vote,  and  as  a  result  many  of  the 
leaders  have  stayed  in  influence  year  after  year,  even  though 
the  rank  and  file  may  have  passed  to  other  opinions. 

The  executive  committee  appears  to  have  large  powers 
and  is  apparently  made  up  of  the  very  strongest  men  in  the 
whole  group  of  leaders  in  all  the  various  unions.  It  is  al- 
ways made  plain,  though,  that  this  body  has  no  powers 
whatever  to  control  the  actions  or  the  policies  of  any  of  the 
111  national  and  international  unions  composing  it,  unless 
these  specifically  give  such  power  to  the  central  body,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  arbitration  of  a  dispute  between  two  or  more 
member  organizations,  each  of  which,  for  instance,  claims 
jurisdiction  over  some  new  group  of  workers.  I  imagine  this 
point  is  missed  by  the  many  who  think  that  Mr.  Gompers 
and  his  associates  at  the  top  should  be  expected  always  to 
compel  the  action  of  the  111.  On  the  contrary,  each  of  these 
has  an  autonomy  which  extends  much  further  than,  for 
instance,  that  of  the  48  State  governments.  Furthermore, 
any  attempt  to  override  this  self-government  of  the  111 
constituents  might  easily  mean  the  withdrawal  of  the  of- 
fended group,  and  with  it  the  cutting  off  of  the  per  capita 
membership  fee  without  which  the  Federation  cannot  do 


170        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

business.  To  that  extent,  therefore,  each  of  the  111  has 
the  larger  body  in  its  power. 

It  certainly  looks  as  though  this  executive  committee  had 
a  lot  of  knotty  problems  assigned  to  it  for  both  study  and 
final  decision  later  by  the  votes  of  the  delegates.  But,  so 
far,  the  decisions  as  brought  in  by  them  and  by  the  com- 
mittee on  resolutions  appear  to  get  the  0.  K.  of  the  conven- 
tion amazingly.  Whenever  they  are  questioned,  a  mem- 
ber gets  up — like  John  P.  Frye  of  the  moulders,  Mathew 
Woll  of  the  engravers,  or  William  Green  of  the  coal-miners. 
After  he  has  stated  the  different  steps  that  led  to  the  de- 
cision, there  seems  to  be  nothing  further  to  be  said,  and  the 
vote  goes  through  in  support  of  them  and  their  recom- 
mendation. 

Over  at  one  table  in  front  have  been  gathered  the  radicals 
from  the  West,  especially  the  Pacific  coast,  with  red-haired 
"  Jimmy  Resolution  Duncan,"  of  Seattle,  in  charge.  They 
have  tried  all  during  the  two  weeks  to  put  through  this  or 
that  radical  resolution — to  change  Labor  Day  to  May  1; 
to  allow  a  referendum  whenever  five  per  cent  of  the  members 
of  the  union  desire;  to  place  the  hiring  and  firing  of  their 
foremen  in  the  hands  of  the  workers;  to  recognize  Bolshevik 
Russia,  etc.,  etc.  Regularly  all  the  votes  go  against  them, 
and  regularly  they  get  up  to  charge  that  the  powers  that  be 
are  standpatters,  reactionaries,  and  conservatives  who  have 
outlived  their  usefulness.  Most  of  the  social-service  work- 
ers and  such  guests  at  the  convention  agree  with  them,  but 
I  can't  help  thinking  that  these  critics  read  into  the  minds 
of  the  millions  of  workers  who  have  at  least  theoretically 
elected  these  delegates,  a  lot  of  desires  and  demands  which, 
personally,  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  find  there.  For  the 
most  part,  that  is,  it  seems  to  me,  these  workers  have  got 
only  as  far  as  these  leaders  have  themselves  got — namely, 
to  the  point  of  wanting  to  put  their  feet — the  feet  of  their 
representatives — under  the  same  table  with  the  plant  heads 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  171 

and  then  negotiate,  or,  as  they  say,  bargain,  for  better 
wages  and  hours  and  working  conditions.  After  that  at 
some  distant  time,  maybe,  they  may  want  more,  but  why 
bother  about  that  now?  Just  now — and  for  a  long  time 
to  come — they  are  all  more  interested  hi  getting  a  vested 
interest  in  the  job  than  in  the  plant  or  management,  general 
misunderstanding  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

11  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  Foster,  the  organizer  for  iron  and 
steel  workers,  is  reported  to  have  said,  "even  after  we  get 
'em  into  the  union  we  have  to  do  a  lot  of  educatin'  to  get 
'em  to  caring  even  about  such  things  as  the  eight-hour 
day." 

Secretary  of  Labor  Wilson  gave  a  good  plea  for  conser- 
vatism, evidently  intended  to  back  up  Gompers.  "  Let's 
hold  what  we  have  before  we  fight  for  more." 

"If  our  red  friends  were  to  win  their  way  in  this  conven- 
tion," said  John  Frye,  "wouldn't  some  of  our  employer 
friends  who'd  like  to  see  us  all  shot  at  sunrise,  be  sighing 
for  the  good  old  days  of  conservative  Sam  and  the  rest  of 
us,  though !  We're  for  evolution,  not  revolution." 

"Why,  if  regular  Wall-Streeters  were  down  here,"  said 
one  of  the  highly  educated  "innocent  bystanders,"  "they 
wouldn't  do  a  bit  different  from  these  standpat  leaders!" 

But  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  "Sam"  doesn't  know 
very  well  where  he  came  from  and  where  he  and  his  beloved 
"labor  movement"  are  getting  to.  All  of  them  certainly 
make  no  bones  of  saying  in  the  presence  of  the  "fraternal 
delegates"  from  England  and  Canada  that  this  "move- 
ment" of  theirs  has  done  immensely  more  for  the  worker 
here  than  has  the  "movement"  in  any  other  country,  bar 
none. 

One  big  underlying  divergence  of  opinion  is  as  to  the 
craft  union  or  the  industrial  union.  Of  course  no  attention 
could  be  paid  to  the  radical  resolution  "that  the  A.  F.  of  L. 
be  reorganized  away  from  the  craft  and  onto  the  industrial 


172        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

basis."  That  would  mean  disbandment  and  play  directly 
into  the  hands  of  the  I.  W.  W.  or  the  "One  Big  Union." 
At  the  same  time,  the  present  craft  basis  seems  to  make 
the  jurisdictional  disputes  unavoidable  (as  when  the  steam- 
shovel  men  become  the  electric-crane  men  following  the 
electrification  of  their  jobs),  and  these  do  take  up  a  lot  of 
the  convention's  time.  Then,  too,  how  can  an  employer 
deal  with  "the  union"  when  that  may  mean  dealing  with 
twenty  or  more  different  and  more  or  less  quarrelsome  and 
jealous  unions?  Progress  toward  the  industrial  union  is, 
however,  being  made  by  the  success  of  such  as  the  "miners," 
which  includes  everybody  working  in  the  mine,  and  by  the 
formation  of  "departments"  in  the  A.  F.  of  L.  in  which 
all  the  related  fields  try  a  little  harder  to  work  together. 
For  instance,  the  four  big  printing-trades  unions  are  now 
arranging  to  have  then*  contracts  with  the  employers  all 
begin  on  the  same  day,  and  in  partnership  with  the  employer 
associations  to  hire  an  expert  to  find  the  cost  of  living  as 
the  basis  of  the  yearly  and  industry-wide  wage  adjustments. 

Inasmuch  as  this  organization  of  all  the  workers  into  one 
body,  without  respect  to  craft  or  function,  is  the  basis  of  the 
French  Syndicalism  and  the  American  I.  W.  W.,  it  is  pro- 
moted mainly  by  the  radicals.  The  present  plan  of  the 
more  intelligent  of  these,  however,  is  said  to  be  to  try  to 
take  the  A.  F.  of  L.  as  it  stands  and  change  it  gradually 
by  "boring  from  within."  This  is  said  to  be  the  purpose 
of  Foster — with  what  truth  no  one  seems  to  know.  He 
and  the  chairman  of  the  committee  report  here  that  after 
ten  months  of  then*  joint  campaign  to  organize  iron  and 
steel  workers,  they  have  secured  100,000  members!  And 
now  rumors  have  it  that  the  heads  of  the  iron  and  steel 
workers  unions  are  fearful  that  the  success  of  the  plan  will 
put  these  former — and  perhaps  present — syndicalists  into 
control  of  their  conservative  unions. 

Altogether  it  might  look   as  though   a  steel  company 


WITH  THE  BUILDERS  OF  SHIPS  173 

might  well  consider  dealing  with  any  union  that  would 
follow  the  conservative  leadership  of  such  as  head  the 
moulders,  the  miners,  the  printers,  and  others;  going,  as  it 
were,  to  their  defense  against  their  highly  active  and  highly 
radical  enemies.  But,  unfortunately,  the  group  of  steel 
manufacturers  who  are  already  dealing  with  the  Amal- 
gamated Iron,  Steel,  and  Tin  Plate  workers  are  at  this  very 
moment  finding  it  most  difficult,  up  at  the  Marlboro- 
Blenheim,  to  come  to  any  satisfactory  agreement  for  the 
year  ensuing.  In  fact,  they  have  been  on  the  point  of 
breaking  off  negotiations  entirely,  following  what  they 
claim  to  be  attempts  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  union's 
officials  in  some  of  the  local  communities  to  break  earlier 
agreements  as  made  on  a  national  basis,  and  otherwise  to 
demand  changes  seriously  hurtful  to  these  manufacturers. 
I  am  told,  also,  that  the  Amalgamated's  president  acknowl- 
edges the  difficulty  he  has  in  getting  all  his  local  chapters 
to  see  the  importance  of  a  line  of  conduct  such  as  will  make 
more  and  more  employers  want  the  union's  advantages — 
and  that  for  that  reason  he  regrets  the  sudden  methods  of 
the  special  campaign  which  will  give  him  a  still  larger  body 
of  members  whose  conduct  will  be  all  the  harder  to  control. 

So  until  the  employers  who  deal  with  a  union  are  able 
to  give  recommendations  following  their  actual  experience, 
there  seems  nothing  to  do  but  await  with  courage  the  com- 
ing of  the  campaign's  forces,  meanwhile  remembering  the 
words  of  Foster: 

"Sure,  where  the  men  are  getting  good  wages,  right  hours, 
good  conditions,  and  are  generally  happy,  we  organizers 
can't  do  nothin'  with  'em." 

It  is  also  worth  remembering  those  other  words  from  him 
—and  some  believe  him  a  real  expert  on  mass  psychology: 

"In  steel  and  iron  where  men  work  together  in  big  bunches, 
we  can  get  everybody  to  strike  even  though  we  have  only 
ten  per  cent — the  most  important  and  leading  ten  per  cent 


174        WHAT'S  ON   THE   WORKER'S   MIND 

— with  us;  but  we  want  'em  all  and  we  won't  do  nothing 
till  we  get  at  least  thirty  per  cent." 

If  you  ask  Foster  what  he'll  do  when  he  gets  his  thirty 
per  cent  all  ready  to  strike — what  he'll  ask  for,  he  says: 

"That's  not  my  business.  I'm  only  an  organizer.  I've 
got  no  programme  or  demands  except  that  I  want  the 
twenty-four  co-operating  unions  to  give  more  organizers 
to  work  under  me — and  then  we'll  soon  be  ready  to  turn 
things  over  to  the  boys  who  have  got  the  demands  ready." 

Well,  the  convention  assuredly  makes  it  look  like  a  real 
" movement" — much  too  real  and  too  complex  for  an  ob- 
server to  expect  to  know  very  deeply  or  widely  about  it 
without  much  more  study  and  experience  than  has  been 
vouchsafed  to  me.  On  the  other  hand,  it  certainly  is  too 
real  and  too  large — and  too  serious-minded  and  capable — 
to  permit  most  of  us  to  go  on  assuming  that  it  is  unsafe 
and  un-American  to  speak  or  know  anything  about  it.  It 
seems  to  me  certain  that  it  would  help  some  toward  indus- 
trial equilibrium  if  a  larger  number  of  employers  would 
drop  into  the  public — very  public — sessions  of  the  con- 
vention next  year.  There  seems  to  be  no  secret  sessions 
unless  it  may  be  those  of  the  executive  committee,  which 
I  doubt.  Furthermore,  it  would  seem  highly  proper  for  no 
employer  to  take  as  representing  the  union's  attitude  the 
unreasonable  dictum  of  a  local  business  agent  without  giv- 
ing the  national  heads  a  chance  to  pass  on  it.  Most  of 
these  certainly  give  the  impression  of  sincerity  as  well  as 
reasonableness  and  ability. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


FOR  a  few  days  following  the  convention  life  was  a  sort 
of  chameleon  affair — with  a  day  of  job-seeking  in  old 
clothes  followed  by  a  day  of  white-collared  attendance  at 
a  conference  or  two — conferences  where  it  was  desirable 
though  extremely  difficult  to  keep  silence  when  matters 
were  discussed  which  touched  closely  on  the  field  of  my  cur- 
rent experiences. 

One  of  the  old-clothes  days  was  spent  in  an  Eastern  city 
where  all  the  steel-plants  seemed  exceptionally  well  organ- 
ized for  giving  the  applicant  exceptionally  good  treatment 
and  consideration.  Altogether,  the  courtesies  shown  were 
such  as  could  only  make  the  seeker  after  a  job  keenly  sym- 
pathetic with  the  employment  manager,  who  seemed  himself 
in  all  cases  extremely  sorry  that,  on  account  of  "dull  times 
in  steel,"  he  could  not  hire  more  men.  In  one  case  the 
clerk  came  out  onto  the  street  and  showed  me  the  way  to 
another  plant,  with  the  hope,  evidently  sincere,  that  better 
luckinight  be  with  me  there. 

Since  then  it  has  been  very  interesting  and  gratifying  to 
learn  that  that  particular  city  enjoys  the  reputation  for  a 
minimum  of  labor  trouble. 

Finally, — but  the  diary  tells  of  it  sufficiently: 

Tankton, 
July  4,  -. 

All  things  considered,  the  hardest  and  worst  job  to  date, 
and  the  closest  shave  yet,  also,  from  being  fired  from  it. 
Also  the  closest  to  being  laid  out  by  the  combination  of 

175 


176        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

job,  sun,  and  foreman — and  to  being  brained  by  the  last- 
named.  So  I'm  thankful  for  being  alive  and  still  on  deck, 
though  by  a  narrow  margin. 

"We  don't  take  on  no  helpers,"  the  employment  clerk 
assured  me  at  the  gate  of  a  great  oil  refinery.  "Everybody 
starts  in  the  labor  gang  and  works  up.  Come  around  to- 
morrow and  we'll  probably  take  you  on." 

The  next  morning  they  were  asking  every  applicant 
about  his  citizenship: 

"You  say  thirty-five  years  hi  this  country  and  no  papers ! 
You  should  be  ashamed.  There's  no  job  for  you." 

Then  to  the  next:  "Them  papers  is  all  right.  Will  you 
take  labor  job?  .  .  .  Well,  I  guess  you  don't  want  to 
work  or  you'd  speak  up.  How  about  you,  Mike?" 

Finally  six  of  us  were  started  off  under  the  lead  of  a  chap 
who  had  worked  there  before,  and  who  said  he  had  once 
had  a  fight  with  the  boss  for  whom  we  were  now  headed. 
Before  we  had  gone  far  he  had  to  coax  along  four  of  the 
party,  who  seemed  to  have  no  taste  for  this  particular  boss 
or  department.  Another  hundred  yards  and  both  he  and 
the  four  dropped  out  and  started  back  another  way,  leaving 
a  stranger  who  had  joined  the  party  and  myself  to  continue 
—two  finishers  out  of  seven  starters. 

He  had  worked  hi  the  plant  thirty-one  years  before — at 
the  age  of  eleven !  He  had  many  remarks  about  the  old 
days  when  "Right  there  we  used  to  raise  Cain  with  the 
apples  in  a  big  orchard,  and  now  see  that  big  building. 
Don't  it  beat  the  devil? 

"Sixteen  years  I  sold  vegetables — but  you  had  to  give 
too  much  credit,  and  it  busted  me.  Nowadays  it  takes 
too  much  money — $400  to  look  at  a  horse  and  wagon!" 

We  had  hardly  given  our  names  and  got  our  numbers, 
lockers,  and  aprons  of  coarse  sacking,  before  we  were  sent 
with  others  to  report  to  the  "pitch  house."  There  the 
trouble  began,  at  least  for  me.  The  gang's  job  was  to  fill 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  177 

barrels  with  pitch,  pass  them  by  two  men  who  nailed  the 
hoops  in  place,  and  then  roll  them  into  position  hi  the 
storage  yard.  Hour  after  hour  hi  the  hottest  sun  of  this 
summer  my  job  was  to  roll  every  barrel — hundreds  of  them, 
each  weighing  about  500  pounds — over  the  rough  gravel; 
then,  worst  of  all,  to  "bung  it  up" — turn  it  and  twist  it 
and  tug  it  into  its  place,  always  with  its  freshly  inserted 
bung  up  to  prevent  leaking.  The  job  is  no  snap  for  a  be- 
ginner and  his  bare  hands — there  is  a  lot  of  knack  hi  it  which 
no  one  can  get  the  first  day.  When  my  temples  began  to 
drum  hard  and  my  mouth  to  fill  full  of  cotton  so  that  I  felt 
a  few  minutes  in  the  shade  might  barely  save  me  from  sun- 
stroke, I  asked  my  Polish  foreman  about  changing  places 
with  one  of  those  hi  the  shade  at  easier  jobs.  In  a  surly 
voice  I  was  refused  any  change  and  any  rest — the  barrels 
would  pile  up  and  stop  the  line  even  as  I  spoke.  Just  as  I 
was  about  to  say  "Thank  God"  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul 
for  the  arrival  of  four  o'clock  I  heard  the  boss  say  "Over- 
tune  to-night,  boys!"  as  if  he  were  handing  out  candy! 
Luckily  the  sun  grew  a  little  cooler,  and  finally,  too,  he  gave 
another  worker  to  help,  and  both  of  us  were  kept  busy. 

At  five  I  learned  that  all  overtime  work  is  optional,  so 
I  knocked  off  and  stumbled,  almost  too  exhausted  to  walk, 
up  to  the  very  handsome  shower-baths  and  wash-basins. 
A  shower  certainly  would  be  splendid  after  such  a  day.  1 
found  that  the  soda  furnished  in  place  of  soap  hurt  my 
hands  where  the  skin  had  been  torn  off  by  the  sharp  barrel- 
ends,  and  would  not  remove  the  tar  sufficiently  to  let  me 
either  take  my  shower  or  wash  my  face.  After  a  long  time 
with  the  burning  soda  I  went  down  and  called  to  my  boss, 
"Where's  some  naphtha?"  and  showed  him  my  tar-covered 
hands. 

"Aw,  you  don't  get  no  naphtha  here — you'll  have  to  go 
home  that  way,"  he  shouted,  and  then  jeered  at  me.  "Say, 
how  did  you  get  that  way,  you  poor  fish !" 


178        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

It  was  too  much  for  my  sore-tried  muscles  and  frazzled 
nerves.  After  cursing  him — and  regretting  that  my  inex- 
perience made  it  less  effective  than  I  wished — I  asked  him 
in  anger:  " Where's  your  boss  so  I  can  report  you  to  him?" 

As  I  went  back,  covered  by  his  jeers  and  curses,  a  fellow- 
worker  of  Slavish  birth  took  pity  and  directed  me  to  a  pail 
of  naphtha  in  the  shanty — the  boss's  shanty! 

I  have  seldom  been  so  done  up  in  my  life  as  that  evening 
—and,  because  of  that  and  poor  sleep  that  night,  took  a 
bad  lot  of  feeling  with  me  into  the  plant  the  next  morning. 
Most  of  the  tune  I  was  paired  off  in  rolling  some  heavy 
barrels  up  a  steep  incline  into  the  freight  cars  with  an  igno- 
rant Italian  who  knew  not  even  the  commonest  words  in 
English — after  ten  years  here !  After  some  hours  of  it  my 
weary  nerves  let  go  and  I  lost  my  temper  when  his  igno- 
rance made  the  barrel  go  wrong  before  the  eyes  of  the  gang 
and  the  boss. 

"I  can't  work  with  that  man !"  I  cried  out.  "He  knows 
nothing.  I  try  to  use  my  head  to  make  it  go  straight  and 
he  spoils  it  all!" 

"Hain't  I  told  you,"  roared  the  boss,  "that  you  ain't 
supposed  to  use  your  head  around  here !  Muscle's  all  we 
want.  Put  your  muscle  into  it!"  (This  after  his  yester- 
day's efforts  to  teach  me  to  "bung-up"  by  using  my  head.) 

All  day  it  got  more  and  more  on  my  nerves  to  have  him 
continually  order  us  about  as  though  we  were  slaves. 
"Hey,  there,  you !" — and  since  he  knew  none  of  our  names 
because  we  were  all  new  to  him,  we  had  all  of  us  to  look  up 
— "Yank  that  big  skid  over  there!  Come  on,  come  on, 
let's  go ! "  Or  if  any  one  made  a  move  to  do  something  with- 
out being  told,  "Hey,  what  you  up  to,  huh?  Well,  you 
wait  till  I  tell  you  to,"  followed  a  half-hour  later  by,  "Say, 
won't  none  of  you  fellows  make  a  single  motion  right  with- 
out me  bein'  here  to  tell  you?" 

Finally  as  his  wrath  turned  on  me  once  more  for  some- 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  179 

thing,  I  fairly  saw  red.  If  a  weapon  had  been  handy  I 
think  I  would  have  used  it,  even  at  the  cost  of  a  lifetime's 
regret.  As  it  was,  I  turned  on  him  with  the  strongest  curses 
I  have  ever  dared  even  to  think,  much  less  to  utter,  in  all 
my  life.  I  was  desperate,  tried  beyond  endurance  by  his 
slave-driving  combined  with  a  sore  throat,  the  hard  work, 
and  the  scorching  heat,  added  on  to  the  preceding  day's 
fatigue  and  bad  treatment.  I  expected  to  be  knocked 
down.  To  my  utter  amazement,  and  also  that  of  the  gang, 
he  said  nothing. 

I  felt  better  for  being  a  rebel  for  the  rest  of  the  turn, 
but  he  was  preparing  his  come-back.  At  four  he  said: 

"You  and  I  don't  seem  to  get  on  together.  I  can't  fire 
you,  but  this  note  will  let  me  lose  you,  and  you  can  mebbe 
get  a  chance  in  another  department." 

Saturday  the  department  superintendent  heard  my  story 
most  considerately,  expressed  regret  for  the  dirtiness  and 
hardness  of  the  work  and  for  such  bad  bossing,  said  he  would 
help  me  get  into  another  department,  as  he  "could  see  I 
looked  more  intelligent  than  most  of  'em,"  and  he  "believed 
in  helping  even  the  newcomer  to  get  on."  So  I'm  to  report 
to-morrow  to  a  cool  and  clean-looking  place  where  heavy, 
filled  barrels  are  all  over  the  place.  But  I  can  hustle  them 
all  right  if  I'm  not  insulted  as  a  dog  every  fifteen  minutes 
and  made  to  feel  that  I'm  keeping  a  perfectly  good  mule 
out  of  a  job. 

The  foreman  certainly  is  the  holder  of  the  worker's  life 
and  future,  and  he  certainly  is — in  most  of  the  places  I've 
been — far  from  being  what  he  should  be  in  any  world  that 
has  been  made  anything  like  safe  for  democracy.  Here's 
hoping  for  a  decent  one  to-morrow. 

Tankton, 
JulyS. 

Life  is  worth  living  again !  I've  got  a  decent  foreman 
and  so  a  bearable  job. 


180        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

When  I  found  him  yesterday  a  little  before  seven,  he 
gave  me  a  careful  ''up  and  down"  and  decided  I'd  do  for 
weighing  the  empty  barrels,  which  our  crowd  fixes  up  ready 
to  be  filled  and  shipped. 

"You  see  these  scales  are  marked  for  regular  weights 
and  also  for  kilos."  (He  pronounced  it  "kylos.")  Now 
see  if  you  can  read  that  in  pounds.  .  .  .  That's  right. 
Now  in  kylos?  .  .  .  You've  got  it — and  I'll  tell  you  which 
weights  is  to  be  stencilled  onto  the  barrels  as  they  come. 
Now  take  that  brush  and  see  if  you  can  work  the  stencil.  .  .  . 

My  G ,  .  .  .  no !  That  won't  do.  .  .  .  Here  Jim,  give 

me  that  knife  to  rub  it  out !  Now  again  and  lighter,  for 
the  love  o'  Mike !  There,  that's  0.  K. — Now  we're  ready. 
Hey  there,  you  fellows,  let  them  barrels  come — and  don't 
be  slow  about  it!" 

There  was  no  time  just  then  to  see  what  it  was  all  about, 
but  there  certainly  was,  on  the  instant,  a  din  of  hammering 
and  banging  and  rolling  that  soon  put  a  barrel  onto  my 
scales — with  another  one  waiting  before  my  awkwardness 
succeeded  in  getting  the  right  "regular  weights"  painted 
on  it.  And  so  it  kept  going  nearly  all  day,  with  mighty 
little  let-up  except  for  a  couple  of  hours  when  we  were  all 
taken  over  to  another  building  where  we  took  fresh-made 
and  unpainted  barrels  down  from  their  stacks  in  the  big 
warehouse,  twirled  them  onto  the  runways  by  which  they 
finally  got  down  onto  a  big  barge  that  took  them  out  to  a 
ship  for  later  use  at  some  other  plant. 

I've  come  to  have  a  lot  of  respect  for  the  humble  barrel. 
It's  really  a  wonderful  thing.  That  bulge  hi  its  centre 
makes  it  possible  for  an  expert  to  do  'most  anything  with 
it — some  of  the  boys  were  almost  magicians  with  'em.  Of 
course,  the  biggest  thing  is  that,  when  filled,  the  barrel  can 
by  this  bulge  be  set  upright  or  turned  hi  this  or  that  direc- 
tion with  an  ease  that  is  impossible  with  a  bulgeless  drum. 
I  guess  drums  would  sure  enough  have  killed  me — or  made 
me  kill  that  foreman — last  week. 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  181 

By  " rubbering"  when  the  barrels  run  a  little  slow,  I 
could  see  that  the  fresh-coopered  ones  came  over  from  the 
warehouse,  passed  through  a  paint  vat,  were  placed  on  a 
runway  that  landed  them  before  the  chap  who  ran  the 
machine  to  make  their  bung-holes  of  the  exactly  right  size, 
then  were  flipped  from  one  man  to  another  until  their  ends 
were  stencilled  with  the  company  name,  brand,  destination, 
etc.,  and  "Tare.  .  .  ." 

I'll  never  forget  that  "Tare.  .  .  ."  That  was  where  I 
had  to  mark  my  weights  after  a  line  of  boys  had  nailed  the 
hoops  right  and  my  buddy  had  shoved  the  completed  barrel 
toward  me.  As  quick  as  I  could  steady  it,  read  the  flicker- 
ing hand  on  the  dial  and  stencil  the  right  number,  I  gave  it 
a  turn  to  roll  down  an  incline  to  the  filling  room,  where  the 
full  weight  and  number  of  gallons  were  put  on  by  some 
other  chap.  By  others  it  was  rolled  into  the  shipping-room 
or  else  onto  the  boat  for  New  York  or  Antwerp,  Copen- 
hagen, Buenos  Aires,  or  some  such  place. 

The  gang  boss  is  a  young  Irishman,  who  seems  friendly, 
besides  being  active  and  knowing  his  job.  He  gets  the 
work  out  of  all  of  us  successfully  and  without  ruffling  us 
much — perhaps  because  he  doesn't  ruffle  us  much. 

One  boy  did  say:  "Yes,  he's  better'n  most,  but  at  that 
he  yells  too  much." 

The  yelling  seems  to  be  because  he  doesn't  take  the 
trouble  to  learn  our  names.  So  he  has  to  yell  in  order  to 
attract  everybody's  attention,  and  then  point  to  the  man 
he  wants.  When  he's  right  near  and  yells  loudly,  the  chances 
are  he's  yelling  at  somebody  farther  away,  but  if  he  yells 
loudly  and  suddenly)  it  may  very  well  be  yourself  that's  in 
very  bad — and  you  look  up  in  a  good  deal  of  fear  and  trem- 
bling. As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  guess  everybody  looks  up 
every  time  he  yells  so  as  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  which  comes 
pretty  close  to  stopping  the  whole  process  in  order  to  help 
him  single  out  his  men. 


182       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

So  far  nobody  has  asked  me  my  name — or  used  it  if  he 
had  it.  That  seems  a  big  mistake.  It  took  me  a  year 
once  to  change  my  New  York  hotel  because  the  clerks 
at  the  old  place  had  power  over  me — they  knew  my  name 
and  used  it  to  the  limit;  and  the  clerks  at  the  new  place 
didn't.  I  don't  know  any  place  where  this  ancient  power 
of  the  name  can  be  used  to  more  purpose  than  in  a  gang  of 
workers.  The  men  seem  to  know  all  of  this  in  a  sort  of 
reverse-English  way.  Several  of  them  have  spoken  of  their 
gang  bosses: 

"Yes,  he's  one  of  the  best  in  the  place — he  don't  yell 
hardly  at  all" — or  the  reverse. 

For  a  long  time  all  the  boys  around  and  the  boss,  too, 
let  me  know  they  thought  I  was  pretty  slow  in  marking  my 
barrels  and  pushing  'em  along. 

Once  I  asked  one  of  the  youngsters  nailing  the  hoops  on 
to  do  it.  He  did  show  speed  !  But  I  noticed  that  he  never 
looked  at  the  scales! 

"Oh,  sure,  but  that  takes  too  much  time  when  you  want 
to  mark  'em  fast !" 

Another  of  my  would-be  instructors  put  it: 

"When-a  da  boss  come  yell  at  you,  always  make  out 
like-a  you  was  deef.  .  .  .  Neva  mind  about  da  scales — 
mark  'em  on  as  dey  come  on  a  da  stencil — except  when-a  da 
boss  he  come  by.  Now  you  follow  me — I  make-a  you  learn 
fine." 

Still  another  who  had  had  experience  was  willing  to  be 
an  instructor  without  charge:  "Watch  your  scales  and  be 
damned  quick  about  gettin'  the  right  weight  on  when  you 
can  see  the  boss  out  of  the  corner  of  your  eye.  Otherwise,  for- 
get the  scales  and  take  it  easy." 

I've  had  almost  no  instruction  on  any  of  my  jobs  from 
the  bosses — they've  been  too  busy  or  else  they  or  their 
bosses  didn't  think  it  was  worth  the  time.  But,  Jimmy ! 
I've  had  a  lot  of  it  from  my  buddies !  Only  most  of  that 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  183 

has  been  to  help  me  get  by  with  as  little  personal  effort  and 
discomfort  as  possible.  I'm  inclined  to  think  if  they  had 
been  given  a  little  more  attention  for  interesting  them  in  the 
job,  they  wouldn't  be  such  down-hill  teachers  of  the  fellow 
like  me.  It  looks  like  the  sex-hygiene  question — it  isn't  a 
matter  of  instruction  or  no  instruction,  but  of  good  instruc- 
tion or  bad. 

Along  that  line  here's  what  a  sixteen-year-old  told  me 
yesterday  at  lunch-time: 

"I  didn't  get  in  the  first  tune.  I  lied  about  my  age,  and 
they  was  onto  me.  But  the  second  time  I  got  by.  Before 
I  came  the  second  time  I  was  a  few  weeks  at  the  shipyard. 
But  J—  - !  they  was  too  many  ambulances  there !  A  wire 
rope  was  always  droppin'  on  somebody  and  breakin'  their 
head  or  somethin'.  Why,  they  hired  about  200  men  every 
mornin' — because  200  would  be  quittin'  after  hearin'  the 
ambulances  for  a  half  day.  I  had  a  friend  who  saw  an 
accident  hi  his  first  five  minutes — and  he  walked  down  the 
scaffold  and  out  immediately.  Yes,  I  got  a  good  boss  now. 
Sure,  he  swears  like  h —  -  at  you,  but  only  when  his  boss 
is  around — and  he  winks  at  you  while  he  does  it.  ...  Sure 
I  do  a  lot  o'  soldierin'.  I'd  say  I  can  loaf  most  of  the  eight 
hours  in  one  way  or  'nuther.  .  .  .  Nope,  I  quit  school  a 
year  ago.  .  .  .  My  mother  she's  dead." 

My  buddies  on  last  week's  job  report  feeling  about  that 
murder-provoking  foreman  just  as  I  did.  Last  night 
brought  me  onto  one  of  them — a  fine  upstanding  Irishman, 
with  as  strong  a  face  as  I've  seen  in  a  long  time.  We  had 
a  regular  reunion. 

"Oh — that  •  — .  Thank  God,  I've  been  transferred 
from  him,  too.  You  didn't  know  that  I  had  cursed  him  to 
his  face  a  few  days  before,  and  so  had  all  the  rest  of  us 
just  as  you  did !  .  .  .  Sure,  he  took  it.  If  he'd  made  a 
move  I'd  'a'  smacked  his  -  -  mug.  ...  Of  course,  he  was 
rubbin'  it  in  to  us  new  guys — he  gave  all  the  easy  jobs  to 


184        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

his  pets.  But  then  he  handles  everybody  like  slaves.  Why, 
a  week  ago  he  works  us  and  works  us,  tryin'  an'  pryin'  to 
push  an  old  rusty  car  down  the  platform.  We  pushed  and 
we  swore  and  we  just  sweat  blood  makin'  that  fool  car 
move  twenty  feet — fer  an  hour.  And  then  when  we  was 
about  done  fer,  and  we  figgered  he'd  give  us  a  bit  of  a 
spell,  what  did  he  do  but  say, '  Hey  there,  you  slobs !  Give 
us  a  little  action  now !  Shake  'em  up  and  we'll  make  up 
for  all  that  lost  time!'  Now  can  you  beat  the  like  o'  that? 
Why,  for  two  cents  we'd  'a'  mobbed  him." 

Which  reminds  me  that  last  week  I  remarked  to  that 
same  boss — hi  a  half-joking  kind  of  way — how  "the  com- 
pany'd  make  a  million  if  they  put  concrete  here  instead  of 
gravel,  because  they  have  to  pay  more  for  the  harder  work 
it  makes  pushin'  these  barrels  on  it." 

"Say,  young  feller,  you're  hi  the  wrong  pew  here,"  he 
answered.  "They  want  bright  boys  like  you  over  to  the 
head  office;  you're  too  good  for  this.  .  .  .  But  as  long  as 
you're  here,  just  grab  that  barrel  and  rustle  it  over  the 
gravel  and  into  that  car — and  be  —  -  quick  about  it, 
too." 

If  ever  I  run  across  a  foreman  who  asks  me  if  my  doing 
of  the  actual  job  gives  me  any  hunches  that  would  save 
other  men's  labor,  or  the  company  money,  and  then  nods 
his  head  and  thanks  me  for  my  suggestion — well,  the  shock 
will  probably  be  fatal. 

Tankton, 
Tuesday,  July  9th. 

To-day  has  certainly  been  an  example  of  the  figure  Mr. 
Strawboss  cuts  hi  all  this  matter  of  the  job — and  every  day 
makes  it  look  surer  that  for  the  wage- worker  the  job,  hi 
turn,  cuts  the  biggest  figure  of  anything  in  life — for  the 
wage-worker  and,  I  guess,  also,  for  every  one  of  the  rest  of 
us,  for  that  matter.  (In  England  and  on  the  continent  the 
job  perhaps  counts  less  because  a  larger  proportion  of  all 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  185 

kinds  of  people  expect  to  earn  their  living  in  one  way,  and 
then  live  their  real  life  in  another.) 

We  were  all  on  hand  before  seven,  ready  to  begin  chasing 
"them  barrels"  across  the  scales  and  down-stairs  as  usual, 
when  the  gang  boss  announced: 

"Nuthin'  doin'  to-day  around  here,  boys!  All  hands 
come  along  with  me." 

All  but  one  stuck  even  when  the  employment  manager 
asked,  after  we  had  been  lined  up  before  him  in  his  shanty: 

"Now,  if  any  of  you  fellows  want  anything  better  than  a 
labor  job,  say  so  now  and  quit,  because  'labor's'  all  I  got 
to-day." 

So  we  started  off  over  to  a  great  field  where  big  tanks 
were  being  erected.  When  our  particular  six  got  to  the 
job,  there  was  a  general  explosion: 

"Me  stand  there  in  that  mud  all  day  and  shovel  with 
them  'wops' !  I'll  tell  the  world  I  won't !  Not  me !" 

"Say,  look  at  that  guy  in  the  mud  there  to  his  knees! 
Wow,  not  for  mine !  Come  on,  I'm  goin'  home !" 

"How  you  gonna  keep  'em  down  on  the  farm  after  they've 
seen  Paree, "  yelled  another  derisively,  and  we  all  headed 
back  to  the  shanty  to  get  our  lunches  and  quit. 

But  a  well-built  and  likable  young  returned  soldier  boy, 
without  any  hat  and  with  light,  curly  hair  and  a  friendly 
smile,  saved  the  job  for  us  by  starting  another  current: 

"I  don't  need  money  any  worse'n  that  chap,  but  I  did 
jobs  worse'n  than  that  hi  the  army  so  I  don't  see  why  I 
shouldn't  here.  Where's  a  pair  of  them  boots?" 

Another,  a  very  wiry,  good-looking,  and  generally  up- 
standing Pole,  confessed  "No  like — but  gotta  catch  monee." 

Up  to  that  point  it  had  looked  as  though  I  would  be 
treated  with  contempt  if  I  stayed,  but  with  these  I  was, 
with  decency,  able  to  throw  hi  my  lot.  The  soldier  had 
saved  our  "faces"  for  all  of  us.  While  we  three  got  into 
our  hip-boots,  the  other  three,  with  much  profanity,  took 


186        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

off  their  working-clothes  and  pulled  out  of  newspaper 
packages  their  street  pants  and  shirts  (some  of  them  almost 
as  torn  and  soiled  as  those  they  took  off),  and  soon  struck 
off  for  a  day's  loaf.  It  was  hard  for  the  others  of  us  to  feel 
sure  of  our  self-respect  in  taking  a  job  so  distasteful  to  our 
buddies  until  they  and  their  taunts  were  well  out  of  sight 
and  sound.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we  felt,  I'm  sure,  a  good 
deal  degraded  as  we  stomped  down  to  the  mud-hole  in  our 
huge  boots,  our  long  shovels  in  hand. 

"If  the  company's  got  eyes,  Buddy,"  argued  the  soldier- 
boy,  "they'll  mark  it  up  against  them  fellows  for  side- 
steppin'  this  work — and  give  us  a  long  mark  for  tacklin'  it. 
Say,  mebbe  they're  doin'  it  to  test  us!" 

I  wish  I  could  believe  he  was  right,  but  I  doubt  it. 

When  we  settled  down  to  the  work  we  found  it  not  bad 
—and  there's  where  the  foreman  comes  in,  as  I  started  out 
to  say.  He  was  a  black-haired,  red-faced  Italian  who 
spoke  seldom  but  kept  his  eyes  open.  He  put  us  three  in 
a  line  where  the  Pole  was  down  lowest  in  the  mire  oozing 
up  at  the  side  of  the  great  tank  which  had  slid  into  the 
marsh.  From  the  Pole's  shovel  I  caught  the  segment  of 
clayey  mud  on  mine  and,  using  my  thigh  for  a  fulcrum, 
hoisted  the  heavy  stuff  to  the  soldier,  who  hoisted  it  hi 
turn  from  his  boards  up  to  the  pile  where  two  overtalkative 
and  slow-moving  Italians  wheel-barrowed  it  away.  And 
Mr.  Foreman  or  Gang  Boss  let  us  have  all  the  time  we 
wanted.  In  fact,  the  soldier  and  I  were  given  an  easy  pace 
by  the  Pole,  who  certainly  showed  no  awe  of  the  boss. 
Only  one  thing  we  could  not  do:  we  could  lean  on  our 
shovels  to  our  hearts'  content  and  gaze  off  at  the  sky-line 
or  toward  an  occasional  aeroplane,  but  we  must  not  sit  down. 
This  rule  seems  to  be  general  among  bosses,  and  many 
workers  will  not  give  him  a  chance  to  find  'em  at  it.  When- 
ever possible  I  have  tested  it  and  usually  found  it  drew  a 
call-down.  Here  it  brought  a  gob  of  mud  from  the  boss, 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  187 

followed  by  a  firm  but  decent  call-down,  and,  finally,  on 
the  second  offense,  a  threat  of  firing. 

Where  men  are  being  paid  for  purely  muscular  energy, 
the  wisdom  of  this  prohibition  is  certainly  to  be  questioned. 
Surely  an  occasional  " spell"  or  sit-down  could  be  permitted 
in  a  way  that  would  secure  a  bigger  day's  work  for  the 
company  than  the  usual  day  of  unbroken,  but  extremely 
low-speed  effort — especially  if  tried  with  a  higher  type  of 
gang  boss  than  seems  common.  There  is  mighty  little 
reason  to  be  afraid  of  trying  this  miner's  system  of  hard- 
work-and-hard-loaf  instead  of  the  common  half-work-and- 
half-loaf  because  it  may  smack  of  the  new-fangled  "scien- 
tific management."  The  idea  is  a  very  old  one  in  this 
country.  Away  back  hi  1650  it  seems  that  heavy  canoe 
loads  of  furs  were  brought  down  the  Great  Lakes  from 
Mackinac  Island  and  such  trading  forts  by  crews  who  pad- 
dled hard  for  a  certain  distance,  and  then,  on  the  call  of 
"Pipes!  Pipes!"  rested  and  smoked  for  a  few  delicious 
moments — and  so  made  long  runs  with  the  minimum  of 
fatigue.  Without  doubt,  that  plan  came  as  the  result,  not 
of  theory,  but  of  experience. 

Even  when  this  boss  was  near  we  three  new  ones  took 
our  time,  and  it's  a  certainty  that  all  of  the  thirty  or  so 
other  shovellers  did.  When  we  could  not  see  him  from  the 
corner  of  our  eyes,  we  all  let  down  a  notch  or  two  in  our 
"delivery"  and  increased  the  frequency  of  our  arm-on- 
shovel-handle  loafing.  Many  times  as  I  loafed  I  noticed 
that  every  single  shovel  was  similarly  poised  and  motion- 
less. 

But  even  at  that,  we  did  a  good  day's  work  as  such  things 
go,  and  moved  a  lot  of  mud — and  the  point  is,  we  did  it 
without  friction,  without  being  yelled  at,  and  with  the  feel- 
ing that  we  were  being  given  good  attention;  as  for  instance, 
by  the  ice-water  boy  when  it  grew  warm.  But  I  think  the 
boss's  easy,  quiet  way  was  responsible  for  the  general  good 


188        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

cheer — and  for  my  surprise,  too,  at  this  moment,  to  find 
myself  a  chap  whose  self-respect  is  less  hurt  by  the  mud 
than  by  many  foremen's  curses,  and  whose  shoulders  and 
arms  are  not  sore,  in  spite  of  handling  all  the  ooze  and  stuff 
the  husky  Pole  passed  up  to  me. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  add  that  some  of  the  good  cheer  of 
the  gang  was  at  my  expense.  Evidently  a  full  beard  sug- 
gests to  this  bunch  of  buddies  more  a  goat  than  a  human; 
all  morning  and  occasionally  after  dinner  "baa-baa"  kept 
going  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  the  acre-big  marsh. 
WTien  not  otherwise  employed,  I  waved  my  hand  to  show 
the  lack  of  any  hard  feelings,  and  to  my  near-by  shovellers, 
mostly  Italians,  made  an  alibi  for  the  cause  of  the  fuss: 

"You  see,  me  father's  English,  but  me  mother  she  was 
French,  and  the  French  are  great  for  beards.  Yes,  I  parlez- 
vous  and  si-parla  a  little." 

So  far  the  beard  has  at  least  made  everybody  think  I'm 
either  foreign  or  queer — and  in  either  case  has  given  suffi- 
cient reason  for  my  being  in  the  labor  gang.  And  no 
American-born  who  is  not  thought  queer  or  overthirsty 
will  be  seen  there  day  after  day  or  week  after  week  without 
having  his  purpose  suspected — and  his  ability  to  get  answers 
to  his  questions  thereby  ended.  So  the  beard  has  helped. 

The  day's  restings  and  walkings  from  the  plant  to  the 
field  gave  many  chances  at  conversation: 

The  Soldier: 

"After  two  years  of  savin'  the  country,  it's  tough  to  come 
down  to  this.  .  .  .  I'd  try  to  get  back  my  old  job  before 
the  war  but  I  ain't  so  strong  as  I  was  then.  .  .  .  Naw,  the 
army  life  weakened  me.  We  got  plenty  o'  sleep  and  the 
work  wasn't  bad.  But  the  eats,  I'll  say  they  was  fierce— 
I  dont'  want  any  more  army  life  in  mine.  .  .  .  Prohibition  ? 
'Course  there  ain't  no  kick — yet.  A  fellow  can  still  get 
beer,  and,  if  he  knows  the  barkeep,  the  other  stuff,  too. 
Nobody  wants  the  hard  stuff  in  hot  weather,  but  just  you 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  189 

wait  till  the  cold  nights  come,  and  then  if  they  can't  get  it 
there'll  be  some  holler!" 

Thomas,  the  colored  man  (heavy  set,  mustache,  sensible 
face,  good  voice) : 

"  Yessir,  in  lots  o'  companies  we'd  'a'  been  laid  off  to-day 
and  otha  men  hired  for  this  job. "  (He  went  off  with  another 
group  to  a  second  job — on  which  only  half  stayed.)  "  Durin' 
the  war  was  the  great  tune  heah — a  man  got  lots  o'  over- 
time; sometimes  a  fella  could  work  two  shifts  if  he  wanted 
to,  and  many's  the  time  Ah  got  double  time  for  Sundays. 
The  war  was  shuah  a  great  time  foh  money — if  a  fella  could 
stand  the  wo'ak.  .  .  .  No,  Ah  don't  like  this  Saturday- 
afternoon-off  idea.  Ah  wants  work — and  mah  family 
shuah  wants  it  foh  me." 

"Slim,"  also  colored  (a  good  barrel-rustler,  with  his  long 
arms  and  willing  disposition): 

"Color  line?  Why  they  ain't  no  color-line  around  heah. 
Dey  treats  a  black  man  fine — the  best  place  Ah  evah  worked. 
If  any  boss  calls  you  'niggah'  you  reports  him,  and  if  it's 
true,  out  he  goes.  Ah  been  hyah  a  year  now — with  good 
wages  and  steady  work — all  but  six  weeks  when  the  labor 
strike  was  on  at  the  Junction,  and  dey  couldn't  handle  no 
moah  freight  from  us." 

Later  he  and  I  walked  to  the  street-car  past  the  line  of 
sisters  of  charity  and  begging  men  displaying  their  withered 
or  missing  arms  or  legs  as  the  workers  from  one  depart- 
ment folded  their  two  weeks'  pay  into  their  pockets. 

"It's  sumpin'  fierce!"  exclaimed  Slim.  "Every  pay-day 
dey's  all  hyah  wantin'  some  o'  youah  good  money.  Befoh 
yo'  gets  outa  hyah  somebody  shuah  to  say  every  pay-day: 
'What's  youah  numba?'  'What  foh  yo'  wants  ma  numba,' 
yo'  asks  'em,  'n  dey  say:  'Well,  the  boss's  or  the  super's 
motha  done  died  and  we  wants  fifty  cents  from  everybody.' 
And  he  gettin  twice  and  moah  as  much's  yo'  gettin' !  And 
cou'se  yo'  gotta  give  it,  too.  S'fierce !  .  .  . 


190        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

"No — Ah  ain't  takin'  no  cah  to-day  but  Ah  reckons  Ah 
will  to-morrow  when  we  gets  paid.  Ah  done  run  shoaht 
dis  time  'cause  de  kids  done  woah  out  two  pairs  o'  shoes 
befoh  Ah'd  expected  'em  to — mah  pay  check  foh  two  weeks 
runs  about  fohty-seven  dollahs  after  takin'  out  five  dollahs 
foh  a  Liberty  Bond.  Dat's  pretty  good  for  a  regular  eight- 
hour  job.  But,  no  sir,  a  fellah  doan't  want  to  give  many 
fifty  cents  to  nobody  outa  that — leastways  not  when  he 
has  to  buy  shoes  'n  everything  for  his  family  dese  days.  .  .  . 
S'fierce,  this  beggin'." 

I  would  have  walked  the  mile  over  to  the  car  line  with 
him  except  that  he  joined  some  friends.  The  car  service 
is  so  bad  that  most  of  the  thousands  of  workers  walk  very 
long  distances,  and  therefore  have  that  much  less  energy 
for  their  labor  jobs,  besides  having  to  add,  most  of  them, 
I'd  say,  close  to  two  hours  for  coming  and  going  on  to  the 
eight  hours  required  for  making  their  living. 

With  the  help  from  the  shower-bath  here  at  the  "Y" 
(fifty  cents  a  day — I  just  had  to  take  it  that  day  after  the 
other  boss  and  the  heat  nearly  killed  me)  I'm  feeling  sur- 
prisingly fit,  but  bed  looks  pretty  good  all  the  same.  And 
though  he  was  a  very  good  foreman  as  foremen  go,  and 
made  a  decent  job  out  of  his  mud-hole,  still  I  hope  we'll 
have  orders  enough  to  keep  us  busy  with  some  more  of 
those  barrels  to-morrow. 

Tankton, 
July  10. 

Every  day  makes  plainer  the  wisdom  of  studying  the 
gang  boss  and  keeping  an  eye  out  for  him  with  the  zeal  so 
many  of  my  companions  have  shown  and  have  constantly 
urged  on  me  as  a  beginner.  After  all,  he's  the  man  that 
counts.  Right  or  wrong,  it's  his  say-so  that  makes  the 
day  into  heaven  or  hell  and  the  future  rosy  or  rank.  If  he 
hasn't  eyes  to  see  a  certain  line  of  performance  which  you 
figure  good,  you  might  as  well  let  it  go;  it  will  get  you  no- 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  191 

where.  If  some  other  line  of  action  seems  to  make  a  hit 
with  him,  go  to  it,  and  go  to  it  strong. 

To-day  my  soldier-buddy  of  yesterday's  mud-hole  had 
the  job  of  ushering  up  the  barrels  to  the  scales — we  were 
all  tickled,  when  we  got  busy  at  seven,  to  learn  that  the 
day  meant  barrels  instead  of  boots  and  shovels.  He  was 
inexperienced  and  he  had  to  do  a  lot  of  running  back  and 
forth,  stooping  the  while  he  pushed  and  rolled  his  charges. 
All  morning  he  kept  going — so  did  I,  of  course,  but  with 
less  wear  and  tear.  By  noon  his  "  tongue  was  hanging  out," 
and  we  agreed  that  the  slow  shovelling  of  the  day  before 
was  less  exhausting.  He  had  spoken  several  times  to  the 
boss  asking  for  another  man  to  push  the  barrels  part  way 
to  him  but  had  got  no  satisfaction.  His  neck  ached,  he 
said,  "bad  enough  to  kill  a  horse."  He  seemed  to  me  a 
hard  worker,  and  a  willing  one;  as  I  saw  it,  he  was  a  little 
too  conscientious  in  giving  a  lot  of  small  pushes  instead  of 
a  few  big  ones. 

At  the  noon-hour  the  boss  and  I  fell  into  conversation, 
and  I  kept  my  promise  to  speak  a  word  for  my  hard-pressed 
Jerry.  I  was  amazed  at  the  reply: 

"That  fellow !  Why  he's  a  loafer,  that's  all  he  is.  He's 
lyin'  down  on  his  job,  and  if  he  don't  do  better  I'll  have  to 
let  him  go — I  told  him  so,  too ! " 

When  I  argued  that  all  he  needed  was  a  little  more 
"know-how"  and  would  be  worth  a  little  instruction — that 
he  was  taking  it  too  seriously  and  running  and  stooping  too 
much,  I  got  nowhere,  or  rather,  I  quickly  found  I  stood  a 
big  chance  of  getting  in  bad  myself.  So  in  amazement  I 
saw  I  could  do  nothing,  and  let  the  matter  drop.  Which 
one  of  us  is  right,  I  don't  know.  But  I  do  know  that  his 
opinion  is  the  only  one  that  counts. 

It  seems  plain,  too,  that  in  many,  many  cases  the  best 
will  in  the  world  is  not  enough — or  at  least  is  not  quick 
enough — to  overcome  a  man's  inexperience  in  time  to  pre- 


192       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

vent  the  boss's  marking  him  down  as  a  shirker.  And  when 
once  that  mark  has  been  made  it  is  too  often  so  hard  to  get 
it  rubbed  out  that  the  worker  finds  that  he  might  just  as 
well  live  up — that  is,  down — to  it.  I'm  sure,  too,  that  lots 
of  workers  start  in  by  really  caring,  by  having  the  want-to 
spirit.  But  the  effectiveness  of  this  is,  of  course,  largely 
lessened  by  the  lack  of  skill  in  the  job,  by  the  lack  of  the 
know-how.  By  the  tune  this  lack  has  been  ended  under 
the  ordinary  boss's  training  (or  lack  of  it),  the  man  has 
the  know-how  but  has  lost  the  want-to,  and  the  situation, 
on  the  whole,  considering  the  best  interests  of  both  the  com- 
pany and  the  man,  is  worse  than  it  was  at  first.  At  any 
rate,  whenever  I've  been  the  victim  of  an  experienced  but 
careless  automobile  mechanic,  I've  always  decided  that  my 
own  inexperience,  tempered  by  my  desire  for  results,  would 
have  done  the  engine  less  harm  than  the  expert's  know-how 
tainted  by  his  lack  of  interest. 

I  "mind  me,"  also,  of  the  days  back  there  on  the  open- 
hearth.  By  the  time  I  got  so  I  was  pretty  handy  with  the 
shovel  and  could  make  the  dolomite  stick  on  that  fiery  and 
shimmering  white  cliff  of  the  furnace's  back  wall,  I  had 
been  cursed  so  much  hi  the  presence  of  my  friends  that  I 
was  too  ashamed  and  mad  to  use  my  skill  effectively.  After 
a  few  days  this  would,  I  presume,  have  worn  off  if  my 
month  had  not  then  been  up.  But  I  wager  that  many 
workers  quit  at  just  exactly  that  point — to  the  saving  of 
their  own  "face"  and  self-respect  but  to  the  company's 
loss. 

"Naw,  I  ain't  married,"  another  boss  said  a  few  days 
ago.  "  I  can't  see  nothin'  in  that.  And  some  of  the  women 
are  such  fools.  .  .  .  W'y  last  fall  I  was  visitin'  a  sick  friend 
who  had  to  have  the  room  so  dark  you  couldn't  see  nothin' 
— at  least  he  couldn't — and  what  does  the  nurse  do  but 
come  and  sit  on  my  lap — and  I  never  seen  her  before ! 
When  my  line  of  talk  stopped  sudden-like — she  fair  took  my 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  193 

breath  away — my  sick  friend  he  asks  what  was  the  matter, 
and  I  pushed  her  off  as  decent  as  I  could  and  started  on 
again  with  what  I  was  sayin'.  They  make  me  sick !  Give 
me  a  good  boxin'  bout  or  a  cock-fight.  I  used  to  belong  to 
a  club  that  had  swell  affairs  of  that  sort.  Sometimes  they 
began  at  one  o'clock  in  the  mornin'.  That's  the  life !  No 
women  and  no  booze  for  mine !" 

Some  of  his  unrepeatable  stories  seem  to  support  my 
growing  belief  that  the  absence  of  the  finer  social  delicacies 
of  conversation  and  conventionality  among  the  uneducated 
means  the  levelling  of  a  wall  which  serves  to  protect  the 
morals  of  the  more  polite  part  of  modern  society  to  a  degree 
we  are  not  likely  to  appreciate  unless  we  know  both  groups 
well.  Still  others  of  his  tales  give  good  support  to  another 
of  my  observations  along  this  line  of  human  relationships— 
namely,  that  one  result  of  long  hours  and  the  fatigue  and 
overwork  of  manual  laborers  is  a  lessened  interest  in  the 
moral  relationships  within  the  bounds  of  wholesome  matri- 
mony and  a  proportionately  heightened  interest  in  the  more 
challenging  and  exciting  conquests  outside.  Almost  every 
day  seems  to  bring  confirmation  of  the  belief  that,  es- 
pecially among  the  workers  who  find  in  their  work  compara- 
tively small  chance  for  the  moral  satisfaction  of  "getting 
on"  and  "counting" — of  self-respect — there  is  vastly  more 
psychology  in  their  morals  or,  rather,  their  immorals,  than 
has  been  heretofore  appreciated.  If  that  is  true,  the  im- 
provement of  working  hours  and  conditions  could  be  ex- 
pected to  bring  an  improvement — or  at  least  a  chance  for 
an  improvement — of  the  workers'  morals.  But  more  of 
that  later — especially  if  I  get  any  more  confirmations  like 
to-day. 

Education  is,  apparently,  understood  by  all  the  workers 
to  have  a  lot  to  do  with  the  quality  of  the  job  and  the  op- 
portunities for  "getting  on." 

"Aw,  I  didn't  care  nothin'  about  it.     I  wanted  to  get 


194        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

doin'  somethin' — to  earnin'  money !  I  got  through  the 
eighth  grade,"  say  nearly  all  of  the  barrel-hammering  lads. 
Very  few  of  them  claim  they  had  to  stop,  and  none  expresses 
any  regret. 

It  looks  as  though  somebody's  doing  a  poor  job  of  per- 
suading these  youngsters  to  any  desire  for  any  large  amount 
of  education.  And  still,  as  I  say,  they  seem  to  feel,  unlike 
my  cold-roll  buddy  there  in  the  sheet-mill,  that  there  should 
be  a  connection  between  a  good  education  and  a  good  job. 
This  afternoon  in  a  moment's  pause  I  was  telling  one  lad 
that  I  stuck  through  high  school.  He  shot  back  at  me,  quick 
as  a  flash,  with  great  scorn: 

"And  then  you're  here  workin'  in  a  factory!" 

The  local  "  Y"  advertises  throughout  the  plant  its  classes 
in  a  variety  of  practical  studies.  I'm  inclined  to  think  their 
enrollment  is  likely  to  depend  on  the  number  of  times  the 
boys  are  able  to  observe  the  foreman  promoting  those  who 
take  them.  Otherwise  such  effort  is  sure  to  look  like  fancy 
stuff. 

The  "  Y"  also  sends  the  song  leader  and  the  accompanist 
who  plays  on  the  little  transportable  organ  noon-hours  one 
day  a  week  in  each  of  the  various  departments.  That  gets 
good  results.  Last  Monday  the  bosses  and  the  boys  sang 
well,  besides  making  every  late-comer  take  off  his  hat  and 
join  in  on  the  familiar  tunes.  Later,  all  the  boys  kept  sing- 
ing at  their  barrels  far  into  the  afternoon.  My  buddy 
propped  up  the  printed  words  on  the  little  barrel  where  he 
sometimes  sat,  and  in  between  rollings  of  barrels  he  would 
turn  'round,  lean  down,  and,  beating  the  tune  with  his 
hand,  sing  the  words  from  the  sheet.  It  certainly  made  us 
all  better  workers. 

Tankton, 
July  11. 

Barrels,  barrels,  and  more  barrels,  thousands  of  barrels 
chasing  each  other  over  my  scales  and  past  my  stencil  and 


IN   AN   OIL   REFINERY  195 

brush — so  it  has  gone  all  day,  except  for  the  time  taken  to 
go  over  to  the  doctor's  for  examination. 

He  surely  does  give  the  genuine  article.  He  has  a  right 
to,  for  that  matter,  considering  that  the  company  gives 
substantial  life  and  health  insurance  and  other  advantages, 
based  on  length  of  service,  without  asking  any  contribu- 
tion from  the  men.  After  a  long  wait  (at  fifty-three  cents 
per  hour)  my  turn  came  to  join  two  others  in  his  office,  where 
we  were  told  to  strip.  After  we  took  our  turns  in  giving 
our  pedigree  and  genealogy,  the  doctor  gave  us  each  the 
most  thorough  and  careful  examination  imaginable.  When 
he  was  through,  my  card  read  "  Class  A-l,  fit  for  any  kind 
of  work." 

"Yes,"  said  one  of  the  two  young  clerks,  "quite  a  num- 
ber just  turn  and  walk  out  when  we  tell  'em  to  strip — and, 
of  course,  that's  the  last  we  or  the  company  sees  of  'em. 
But  mostly  they  make  no  kick.  Once  in  a  while  we  make 
somebody  go  and  be  operated  on — for  instance,  for  rupture— 
itoefore  we'll  take  him  on,  but  he  sees  the  point  and  is  stronger 
for  it. 

"Lots  of  times,  too,  the  boys  are  in  trouble,  and  we  try 
to  get  'em  to  quit  the  quacks  and  follow  good  advice.  Only 
yesterday  we  tried  to  do  that  with  a  young  ex-soldier,  and 
all  he  did  was  to  get  mad  and  walk  out  and  off  the  job. 
Too  bad;  we  wanted  to  help  him." 

My  memory  recalled  the  very  rough  journeyman  roll- 
turner  back  there  in  the  sheet-mill  last  winter.  I  had  been 
afraid  he  would  spot  me — up  to  the  moment  when  he  turned 
to  me  at  the  boarding-house  table  and  said: 

"No,  siree,  I  wouldn't  stay  there  if  I  had  to  have  a  doctor 
lookin'  me  over.  That's  all  right,  y'  understand,  for  these 
here  hunkies  and  for'ners — but  it  ain't  nothin'  for  self- 
respectin'  workin'  men  like  you  and  me." 

The  number  of  such  "conscientious  objectors" — or  of 
overmodest  ones — could  probably  be  made  still  smaller  if 


196        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

only  one  worker  was  allowed  in  the  room  at  a  time,  with 
one  instead  of  two  clerks.  It  could  not  have  been  pleasant 
for  the  big  colored  boy  to  hear  his  particular  disease  named 
for  the  clerk's  record  in  the  hearing  of  us  all.  It  would 
help,  also,  if  the  booklet  explaining  the  insurance  were  not 
handed  a  man  after  he's  been  examined,  with  the  words: 

"It's  somethin'  like  that,  I  think.  Anyway,  you  can 
read  all  about  it  in  this  booklet — I  haven't  read  it  yet  myself" 

But  speaking  of  barrels,  barrels — "Hey  there!  Push 
along  them  barrels!"  Before  and  after  the  examination  I 
stood  all  day  before  the  scales  like  a  painter  in  his  studio, 
black  brush  hi  one  hand  and  brass  number-stencil  for  a  pal- 
ette hi  the  other.  It  certainly  is  monotonous.  But  I  can't 
make  out  that  that  makes  it  particularly  disagreeable — in  a 
way,  rather  the  opposite.  I  find  I  can  get  the  right  weights 
painted  on  quickly  and  still  think  of  many  things  or,  what 
is  more  to  the  point,  think,  if  I  try  hard  enough,  of  one 
particular  line  or  train  of  thought — and  arrive  somewhere 
with  it,  too.  I'm  not  sure  that  my  fellow-workers  occupy 
then*  minds  that  way,  but  if  they  don't  it  is  partly  because 
they  don't  mind  the  monotony  and  partly  because  they're 
given  comparatively  little  that's  worth  thinking  about. 
I'm  inclined  to  think  that  the  boys  would  give  more  last- 
ing attention  to  worth-while  stuff  put  in  their  minds,  say, 
by  company  movies — or  by  near-technical  problems — than 
I  would,  because  there  would  be  fewer  other  competing  in- 
terests. Those  songs  last  Monday,  for  instance,  kept  going 
on  the  boys'  lips  nearly  all  the  afternoon.  Perhaps,  too, 
a  plant  paper  or  magazine  could  definitely  plan  to  stimulate 
some  of  the  men's  thinkings  while  at  work,  by  occasionally 
publishing  them.  Few  would  complain  at  all  about  the 
monotony,  I'm  sure,  if  all  were  encouraged  to  give  a  sympa- 
thetic foreman  suggestions  for  improving  the  process,  and 
then  were  made  to  feel  that  this  would  be  tied  up  with  an 
active,  well-planned  system  of  recognitions  for  promotions 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  197 

and  transfers.  It  is  monotonous  work  plus  lack  of  oppor- 
tunity for  personal  recognition  that  makes  a  bad  combina- 
tion, so  far  as  I  can  judge. 

This  is  the  kind  of  thing  the  workers'  committee  should 
tackle — after  it  has  got  some  of  the  easy  things  out  of  the 
way — and  long  before  it  gets  around  to  meeting  only  once 
in  several  months,  as  a  member  tells  me  it  does  here. 

To  all  those  workers  here  who  know  anything  about  this 
committee  plan,  the  big  thing  seems  to  be  the  protection 
it  gives  a  man  against  the  unfair  boss: 

"If  he  says  'get  outa  here,'  you  just  go  to  your  delegate 
and  he  lays  the  case  before  the  committee." 

This  testimony  supports  my  observations  that  the  steadi- 
ness and  the  security  of  the  job  are  second  only  to  wages. 
In  that  case  much  of  the  advantage  of  the  committee  must 
be  offset  by  the  company's  frequent  mention  of  a  long  list 
of  causes  for  which  men  may  be  discharged  without  notice 
and  without  appeal. 

Nothing  but  the  non-enforcement  of  this  list  would  give 
any  one  the  slightest  security  or  permanency,  with  com- 
mittee or  without.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  these  rules  are  not 
enforced,  and  the  foremen  are  able  apparently  only  to  send 
men  back  to  the  hiring  office  for  transfer,  as  in  my  case. 
Current  rumor  says,  too,  that  the  company  plans  to  pay 
well  above  the  prevailing  rates  of  wage. 

On  the  whole  the  company  would  pretty  surely  be  chosen 
by  any  worker  who  spent,  say,  a  week  in  the  town  sizing  up 
the  various  employers  by  talking  with  the  workers  in  the 
saloons  and  elsewhere — and  such  conversations  are  sur- 
prisingly numerous.  Whether  it  is  conscious  of  it  or  not, 
every  corporation  has  a  pretty  definite  character  given  it 
in  the  small  talk  of  the  working  community.  The  surprising 
thing  is  how  generally  this  character  agrees  with  the  one 
given  the  same  company  by  those  having  big  commercial 
dealings  with  it.  Time  after  time  I  find  a  poor  employer 


198        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

has  the  reputation  of  an  inefficient  or  a  slippery  business  man, 
and  vice  versa. 

This  evening  we  got  our  pay — and  it  covered  time  up  to 
three  days  previous.  As  we  came  out  past  the  mute  ap- 
peals of  the  sisters  and  the  mutilated  begging  workers  and 
children,  there  seemed  a  surprising  amount  of  generosity. 

Except  for  the  absence  of  whiskey  the  corner  saloon  seems 
still  very  busy.  It  is  certainly  the  worker's  club.  I 
imagine  the  same  group  gets  together  more  or  less  at  the 
same  time.  But,  hi  any  case,  the  foot  on  the  brass  rail  is 
sufficient  introduction  to  any  other  member — with  whom 
you  are  free  to  introduce  any  subject  you  please,  especially 
if  the  liquid  stuff  is  "on  you."  I  notice,  though,  that  the 
club  dues  are  continuous,  unless  the  barkeep  is  too  busy, 
or  asleep  at  the  switch.  This  evening,  for  instance,  when  a 
group  got  so  busy  talking  that  they  were  slow  in  getting 
their  repeat  orders  in,  Mr.  Barkeep  would  gather  up  the 
glasses  at  what  he  thought  proper  intervals  to  represent 
due  rental  for  the  space  they  were  occupying  on  the  brass 
railing,  and,  with  the  emphasis  of  a  switch  of  his  towel 
across  the  wet  bar: 

" Which  is  it,  gents,  large  or  small,  light  or  dark?" 

And  they  knew  they  had  to  give  the  right  answer  or  break 
up  their  party. 

Birch  beer  is  on  draught  and  is  very  good.  Maybe  it 
will  help  make  the  whole  scheme  possible  after  the  ban  on 
the  other  drinks  is  enforced.  On  the  whole,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
so.  The  news  is  that  one  reason  for  the  growth  of  the 
I.  W.  W.  on  the  Pacific  coast  is  that  that  organization  has 
been  live  enough  to  fit  up  clubs  which,  in  the  absence  of  the 
saloon,  attract  the  lumberjack  when  he  comes  to  town — 
attract  and  finally  enlist  him. 

Perhaps  the  I.  W.  W.  keeps  going  because  its  programme 
supplies  some  of  the  excitement  formerly  supplied  by  old 
John  Barleycorn.  Most  of  the  bone-dry  votes  at  the 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  199 

A.  F.  of  L.  Convention  in  Atlantic  City  came  from  the  red- 
headed Western  delegates.  As  one  chap  put  it,  the  day 
before  the  Fourth: 

"How  the  devil  are  you  goin'  to  celebrate  without  any 
booze?" 

He  was  the  same  one  who  lifted  his  hat  whenever  a  breeze 
came  during  those  broiling  afternoons  with:  "I'll  be  hanged 
if  that  ain't  almost  as  good  as  a  schooner  o'  suds." 

It  looks  as  if  more  thought  should  be  given  to  arranging 
for  the  new  saloonless  conditions — perhaps  not  so  much  with 
patent  substitutes  of  an  entirely  new  sort  as  with  the  ex- 
tension of  some  of  the  others,  such  as  the  soft-drink  em- 
porium, the  neighborhood  athletics — with  daylight  saving 
—the  movie,  the  club,  the  school,  etc. 

A  few  days  ago,  by  the  way,  a  half-drunken  sailor  and  I 
got  together  by  means  of  the  bar's  free  masonry.  He  was 
still  proud  of  his  strong  right  arm  and  his  general  huskiness 
as  an  able-bodied  seaman,  but: 

'No,  never  go  back  to  old  home  hi  Norway.  .  .  .  My 
mother — yes,  to  her  I  could  talk  and  she  understand.  To 
brothers  and  sisters — no,  to  them  I  could  not  talk  .  .  .  no, 
not  even  in  fine  suit  of  clothes.  .  .  .  You  see  in  all  twelf 
year  since — in  all  that  time — never  do  I  say  one  word  with 
good,  decent  woman.  Something  gone" — putting  his  hand 
to  his  heart — "something  gone  here." 

Well,  I  wonder  how  I'll  be  handled  when  I  try  to  get  the 
money  due  me  on  those  three  last  days — so  that  I  can  wan- 
der on  to  pastures  new.  That  seems  to  be  a  pretty  good 
test  of  an  employer. 

Tankton, 

July  13th,  1919. 

A  plum  to  the  pay-master's  department !  It  met  the 
test  very  well,  and  the  money  was  shortly  in  my  hands, 
just  as  if  they  thought  I  had  earned  it. 

Chanced  last  night  onto  the  red-haired,  small-faced  but 


200       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

husky-armed  Pat  who  worked  in  the  gang  at  the  "  Pitch- 
house."  Says  he: 

"Yes,  O'im  still  with  that  boss  because  a  friend  o'  mine 
tells  me  he'll  soon  have  a  good  place  with  him.  But  Oi 
will  say  this — if  me  woife  hadn't  died  an  left  me  wid  a  kid 
to  look  after,  Oi'd  be  hanged  if  Oi  wouldn't  take  the  chance 
o'  twenty  years  in  the  pen  for  brainin'  that  slave-driver. 
Why,  that  man  ain't  human,  he  ain't — an'  he  don't  deserve 
to  live  alongside  o'  humans — not  he." 

So  before  leaving  to-day  I  told  the  super's  man — in  rough 
language — that  I  seriously  believed,  both  from  personal 
experience  and  from  general  testimony,  that  this  boss 
would  hi  all  probability  some  day  be  killed  by  some  worker, 
driven,  as  I  was,  to  desperation.  His  answer  was  amazing 
— that  that  was  outside  his  field!  He  said  I  would  have  to 
see  his  chief — which  I  didn't  have  time  to  do.  Why  should 
I  give  two  hours  to  saving  the  man's  life !  I  suppose  I'll 
never  know  if  my  prophecy  comes  true.  If  it  does,  it  may 
give  pleasurable  occupation  to  the  plant  policemen.  A 
good  many  of  them  look  as  though  they'd  be  happiest 
when  most  strenuous  in  the  use  of  their  clubs.  No  wonder 
that  the  rawhiding  foreman  sticks  on  the  job  if  any  official 
side-steps  hearing  about  him  that  way. 

But,  on  the  whole,  the  place  would  be  considered  pretty 
much  as  a  man,  who  looked  like  a  fairly  successful  skilled 
worker,  put  it  last  night  down  on  the  beach  after  his  in- 
telligent dog  served  to  open  conversation: 

11 A  job  there  is  0.  K.  If  you  make  good  they're  pretty 
likely  to  notice  you  and  push  you  along.  I  had  a  chance  to 
go  there  fifteen  years  ago.  Sorry  now  I  didn't  take  it. 
My  friends  who  did  have  good  places  now.  Furthermore, 
everybody  there's  got  a  job  six  days  a  week  if  he  wants  it 
—and  no  fear  the  company's  goin'  to  blow  up  before  pay- 
day. .  .  .  Now  at  that  company  over  there,"  pointing  to 
a  near-by  shipyard,  "I  wouldn't  take  a  place  a  friend  of- 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  201 

fered  me.  'Your  main  job,'  he  says  to  me,  'is  to  dodge  the 
boss.'  Then  he  tells  me  just  how  to  look  out  for  him,  and 
just  what  others  I  was  to  walk  away  from  and  keep  out  of 
sight  of.  That's  no  business  for  an  honest  man.  I  couldn't 
see  it — besides,  I  guess  it  isn't  goin'  to  last  long  now." 

From  that  we  passed  on  to  dogs  and  the  way  they  be- 
have according  to  their  feelings,  just  like  people:  "Well, 
after  he  bit  the  baby  I  had  to  get  rid  o'  the  pup,  and  I  tried 
to  do  it  without  bein'  unkind  to  him,  you  understand. 
But  when  he  come  back  to  the  house  again  one  day,  I  just 
told  him  plain  that  he  was  yellow,  and  that  I  never  wanted 
to  see  him  again.  Well,  that  dog  just  turned  and  walked 
away,  and  after  that  when  he'd  be  runnin'  by  and  I'd  speak 
to  him,  he'd  kinda  stop  and  give  me  a  stony  look,  you  know, 
and  go  on  again  as  though  he'd  never  seen  me  or  heard  o' 
me." 

It  is  a  constant  surprise  how  the  wearing  of  worker 
clothes — or,  maybe,  it  is  the  thinking  of  worker  thoughts  or 
the  feeling  of  worker  interests — seems  to  make  it  easy  to 
enter  into  such  conversations — conversations  which  go  with 
surprising  quickness  to  the  heart  of  matters.  Beginning 
with  the  dog  or  the  job,  it  seems  very  shortly  to  come 
around  to  the  son  just  back  from  war,  the  daughter  just 
married,  or  the  sickly  wife,  and  then  on  to  the  disappoint- 
ments or  the  triumphs  of  the  past  and  the  dreams  of  the 
future.  And  that  "heart  of  matters,"  wherever  found, 
always  seems  very  human  and  very  normal — once  its  diffi- 
culties are  understood — and  very  wholesome. 

I  wonder  what  interesting  group  of  humans  my  lot  will 
be  lined  up  with  next. 

Shoptown, 
July  16. 

The  fine  red-tiled  buildings  and  the  handsome  fence 
made  me  expect  good  treatment  as  I  started  through  the 
artistic  iron  gate  of  the  huge  steel-plant.  As  often  before, 


202        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

under  the  same  circumstances,  the  plant  policeman  broke 
up  the  picture !  He  started  to  close  the  big  gate  in  my  face, 
and  to  save  his  breath  waved  me  back.  In  order  to  make 
him  pay  me  the  compliment  of  something  besides  signs  I 
stood  my  ground  till  he  finally  shouted: 

"Over  there !  Over  there !  Can't  you  see?  Over  there, 
to  the  door!" 

When  I  went  in  and  with  proper  humility  asked  about  a 
job,  he  sent  me  across  to  a  little  brick  shanty  where  another 
but  younger,  fatter,  and  more  agreeable  policeman  sat 
sweating  and  meditating  in  his  uncoil  ared  shirt-sleeves, 
while  his  capacious  tummy  tried  to  overflow  the  boundaries 
of  his  khaki  trousers. 

"We've  nothing  I  know  of,"  he  said  when  he  had  heard 
my  story,  "except  the  labor  gang — and  there's  no  use 
you're  takin'  that  because  you  won't  stay  in  it — it's  nothing 
but  'niggers'  and  the  lowest  foreigners. 

"You  say  you're  married — and  kids?  Well,  now,  the 
head  of  the  forge  department  was  lookin'  for  a  boy,  but 
mebbe  you'd  do." 

He  called  him  up,  gave  me  a  good  "rep"  over  the  phone 
and  asked  him  to  send  over  a  boy  for  me.  Before  he  ar- 
rived I  observed  how  like  a  jail  the  small  room  was,  where 
applicants  were  supposed  to  wait,  separated  from  the  police- 
man by  a  cell-like,  iron-mesh  door. 

Though  I  tried  my  best,  the  foreman  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  let  me  substitute  a  high-school  education  for 
actual  experience  in  figuring  temperatures,  etc. 

On  the  way  back  and  out  it  was  thrilling  to  see  the  huge 
steel  forgings  of  various  weights  up  to  sixty  and  more  tons 
being  heated  in  the  furnaces  built  especially  for  them,  or 
being  forged  into  huge,  compact,  hexagonal  shapes  at  the 
colossal  hydraulic  presses  while  the  men  up  in  the  cranes 
skilfully  engineered  them  back  and  forth  across  the  mam- 
moth anvils. 


IN  AN  OIL  REFINERY  203 

At  a  near-by  machine-shop  a  policeman  interrupted  his 
jollying  of  the  girls  passing  out — it  was  five  o'clock — suffi- 
ciently to  answer,  "  Nothing  till  to-morrow  at  eight.  Yes, 
we're  taking  men  on  all  right." 

Inside,  one  of  the  clerks  stopped  to  hear  my  question 
and  then  carefully  and  coolly  looked  me  over  from  top  to 
toe  before  vouchsafing: 

"Can't  say  whether  there'll  be  a  job  or  not,  but  you  be 
sure  to  be  here  at  nine  o'clock.  .  .  .  No,  I  can't  say,  but 
you  be  here  and  we'll  see." 

In  the  corner  saloon  the  bartender  referred  my  question 
to  a  customer  who  was  a  boss  in  the  steel  company. 

"Well,  if  you're  skilled,  the  machine-shop's  the  best, 
otherwise  the  steel-plant.  But  you've  got  to  turn  up  at 
both  places  hi  the  morning — nothin'  doin'  at  this  time  o' 
day.  You  be  there  in  that  room  by  the  gate,  at  seven  to- 
morrow, and  we  bosses'll  come  down  and  look  over  the 
bunch  and  take  on  any  one  we  need.  That  policeman  you 
saw — he  can't  do  no  hirin' — not  he.  .  .  .  Yep,  they're 
about  2,000  men  workin'  now.  The  startin'  rate  for  labor's 
thirty-eight  or  forty  cents.  But  the  hirin's  all  up  to  us 
bosses,  don't  forget  that." 

Such  arrangements  for  so  large  a  company  in  these  days 
seems  to  justify  the  bad  reputation  which  this  same  com- 
pany's main  plant  had  among  the  working  population  back 

at  S ,  and  which  its  national  officials  seem  to  have 

among  steel  manufacturers. 

Such  arrangements — or  lack  of  them — of  course,  favor 
the  doing  of  the  day's  hiring  at  one  specific  hour.  Where, 
as  seems  sometimes  to  happen,  this  hour  is  the  same  for 
most  of  the  plants  in  the  locality,  the  seeker  for  a  job  must 
try  hard  to  guess  which  one  offers  the  best  chance  for  him, 
because  after  he  waits  at  one  gate  for  that  hour  he  has  lost 
his  chance  for  the  entire  day  at  all  gates.  So  far,  I  have 
found  it  practically  impossible  to  learn  from  any  one  at 


204        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

any  gate  any  idea  as  to  the  probable  comparative  chances 
of  successful  results  from  the  wait.  All  urge,  "No,  I  can't 
say — but  don't  fail  to  be  on  hand." 

It  is  a  certainty  that  the  men  who  day  after  day  guess 
without  success  the  proper  gate  and  so  continue  jobless,  come 
closer  to  being  Bolshevists  than  any  others  not  yet  signed 
up  on  the  society's  rolls.  It  looks  to  me  as  though  the  em- 
ployer who  nowadays  opposes  any  kind  of  State  or  inter- 
state employment  bureau,  and  insists  that  the  ideal  situa- 
tion is  the  one  by  which  he  can  find  fifty  men  outside  his 
gate  every  morning  for  every  five  or  ten  jobs,  is  asking  the 
country  to  let  him  play  with  matches  where  the  tinder  is 
dryest. 

"Comrades,  listen!  Thousands  of  men  are  now  out  of 
work.  Now  quick,  before  they  get  jobs,  is  the  time  for  us 
to  get  their  attention  for  our  gospel.  Fill  out  the  cards 
with  their  names  and  we'll  do  the  rest" — was  the  appeal 
of  the  secretary  of  the  Bolshevist-Socialist  group  there  in 
Steelville  last  spring. 

I'll  wager  that  secretary  had  himself  waited  at  many 
gates — and  knew  what  he  was  talking  about. 


CHAPTER  IX 
IN  THE  IRON-MINES 

JUST  when  should  iron  be  called  steel  or  semi-steel? 
This  question  seems  to  have  bothered  the  experts  a  good 
deal.  Certainly  the  workers  themselves  in  the  plants  use 
the  words  almost  interchangeably,  as  has  perhaps  been 
noticed  in  earlier  pages. 

But,  in  any  event,  the  time  spent  in  working  with  ore 
and  "pig"  and  "metal"  in  the  open-hearth  or  "soft  iron" 
in  the  sheet-mills  creates  a  curiosity  to  see  the  district  in 
which  the  whole  process  starts  with  the  removal  of  the  ore 
from  the  ground.  A  temporary  return  to  white  collars — 
soft — permitted  a  glimpse  of  one's  family  and  a  slight  vaca- 
tion during  the  trip  up  the  Great  Lakes.  Down  the  great 
highway  these  afford,  travels  each  year  the  huge  flood  of 
something  like  60,000,000  tons  of  the  yellow  "dirt"  needed 
for  the  strengthening  and  the  building  up  of  our  industrial 
and  commercial  structure. 

At  the  head  of  the  lakes  it  was  easy  again  to  don  the 
unshaved  countenance  of  the  man  that  needs  a  job,  and 
again  to  ask  and  observe — and  especially  to  listen. 

The  Iron  Ranges  of  Minnesota, 
July  25th,  1919. 

It  is  easy  to  believe  that  the  Minnesota  iron-ore  develop- 
ment, unlike,  for  instance,  Texas  oil,  profited  few  farmers. 
The  reason  is  that  the  deposits  were  found  soon  after  the 
timber  had  been  exploited  and  before  any  number  of  set- 
tlers had  arrived.  The  trip  up  here  from  Duluth  is  mainly 
through  cut-over  and  burned-over  wild  country,  apparently 

205 


206        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

filled  just  now  with  blueberries  and  blueberry  pickers  until 
you  strike  the  iron  country.  Then  the  landscape  is  full  of 
great,  deep  gashes  where  the  hundreds  of  train-loads  of  ore 
have  been  taken  out  and  started  down  the  lakes  to  the 
blast  furnaces  of  Chicago,  Gary,  Cleveland,  Youngstown, 
Pittsburgh,  Buffalo,  etc. 

Here  are  the  results  of  the  days  of  job-seeking: 

Company — nearly  three  miles  walk  from  town. 
Great  difficulty  in  finding  the  mine  captain,  who  was  dimly 
visible  at  the  bottom  of  a  very  deep  "open-pit."  There  the 
ore  was  being  loaded  by  a  huge  and  very  busy  steam-shovel 
into  a  car  which  moved  a  short  distance  to  dump  it  through 
its  track  into  the  hoist-cars,  which  then  brought  it  up  and 
dumped  it  into  railway-cars  for  Duluth.  A  worker  volun- 
teered that  the  lease  would  run  out  in  a  few  months,  so  the 
mine  could  offer  a  man  only  a  poor  job  because  a  short  one. 
Occasionally  sharp  whistle-blasts  from  the  shovel  in  a  near- 
by pit  gave  warning,  and  the  workers  walked  to  little  round 
steel  shelters  just  before  a  series  of  enormous  explosions 
threw  up  smoke  and  rocks  and  shook  the  whole  country- 
side. 

The  mine  captain,  when  finally  found,  shook  his  head: 

"No,  can't  take  on  a  single  man  of  any  sort — got  too  many 
now  and  will  have  to  lay  off  some  soon." 

-  Iron  Co.     The  employment  manager  was  very  will- 
ing to  talk: 

"All  I  can  give  you  is  track-laying.  Ten  hours  with  time 
and  a  half  for  over  eight  hours  makes  it  $4.85  a  day.  You 
keep  laying  the  track  wherever  necessary  for  the  shovel 
to  go  to  dig  out  the  stuff  for  loading  into  the  cars.  We  try 
to  make  everybody  begin  there  and  then  keep  pushing  'em 
up  to  pit-men  who  help  with  the  shovel,  firemen,  and,  finally, 
shovel-men.  .  .  .  No,  shovel-men  are  day-men,  not  ton- 
nage; they  earn  about  twelve  dollars.  And  we  try  to  keep 
everybody  busy  the  year  around — some  go  down  in  our 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  207 

underground  mines  in  other  parts  of  the  range  and  keep 
building  up  the  '  stock-pile '  to  be  shipped  in  summer.  .  .  . 
Yes,  more  Finns  here  than  anything  else.  Some  of  'em  are 
splendid  workers;  some  of  'em  are  impossible;  they  won't 
learn  English  or  anything  and  are  all  for  the  I.  W.  W.  stuff. 
The  Poles  are  good  husky  workers.  The  Italians  are  good, 
too.  During  the  war  they  started  a  strike,  but  we  showed 
'em  they  were  helping  the  Germans  and  they  called  it  off. 
Lots  of  the  Italians  and  Austrians  are  going  back  to  see 
what's  happened.  .  .  .  Well,  I  have  to  bawl  'em  all  out 
pretty  often — that's  about  all  they  understand,  you  know." 

The  company  seems  to  be  trying  hard  to  further  satis- 
factory relations  with  its  men.  Like  all  the  other  mines  I 
saw,  they  furnish  a  wash-house  with  hot  shower-baths  and 
very  good  lockers.  Then  they  offer  a  class  for  any  group 
of  applicants  in  any  subject,  employ  a  visiting  nurse,  pro- 
mote baseball,  aid  an  employees'  club  which  is  a  sort  of 
"Y"  without  the  religious  element.  A  poster  spoke  of 
representation  on  a  small  co-operative  committee  to  handle 
complaints  against  foremen  and  such  matters,  but  it  did  not 
speak  of  elections  by  the  men,  and  was  not  mentioned  by 
the  employment  manager  or  by  any  of  the  workers.  The 
company  houses  at  the  edge  of  town  seem  well  cared  for, 
with  certainly  low  rents — from  eight  to  fifteen  dollars. 

This  town  or  village  is  always  hi  plenteous  funds,  owing 
to  the  tax  laid  on  the  assessed  value  of  the  precious  ore. 
The  streets  are  paved  with  wood-block  and  lined  with  thick 
clusters  of  electric  lights.  The  fire  department  is  the  last 
word  of  rubber-tired  motors.  The  school  buildings  are  fine 
and,  what's  more,  start  even  their  grade  teachers  at  one 
hundred  dollars  per  month !  They  have  night  classes,  ad- 
visers in  vocational  guidance,  visiting  nurses,  baby  clinics, 
and  almost  everything  else  imaginable.  The  national  or 
State  Y.  W.  C.  A.  supports  an  Americanization  worker  who 
covers  the  chief  towns.  The  town  library  is  well  housed, 


208        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

always  open  and  hospitable — has  story  hours  for  the  chil- 
dren and  all  such  "modern  appliances."  And  instead  of 
waiting  for  people  to  come  to  it,  it  goes  to  them  by  estab- 
lishing branches  at  two  convenient  points  on  the  main 
street,  besides  others  on  the  outskirts.  One  of  these  is 
meant  particularly  for  the  workers,  and  kept  always  un- 
locked day  and  night — provided  with  spittoons,  toilet  facili- 
ties, etc.  Its  librarian  had  been  a  machinst  and  millwright 
whose  life,  like  that  of  so  many  workers,  had  been  changed 
by  sickness — hi  his  case,  tuberculosis. 

"Anybody  can  die  of  it,  you  know,  but  most  anybody 
can  live,  too,  if  he'll  fight  like  I  fought." 

He  was  very  proud  of  his  always  keeping  peace  among 
his  rough-handed  readers  and  living  up  to  the  dignity  and 
other  requirements  of  his  job: 

"As  high  as  150  of  'em  in  here  at  one  tune,  sir,  and  never 
no  trouble.  ...  I'll  stand  most  any  abuse  from  'em  in- 
side here,  'cause  this  is  my  job — I'm  paid  to  stand  for  it. 
But  I  had  a  fellow  in  here  the  other  day  who  stepped  out 
on  the  street  and  called  me  names  from  there!  Straight 
off,  I  had  him  arrested !" 

A  small  but  tight-skinned  and  muscular  fellow  fell  into 
the  conversation,  and  after  the  librarian  turned  out  the  lights 
we  continued  to  talk.  In  the  dark  his  little  eyes  gleamed 
to  remind  me  of  a  rat's,  and  he  kept  hitching  up  his  coat 
to  make  it  settle  better,  and  rubbed  his  nose  with  the  back 
of  his  fingers  as  though  he  might  be  a  "coke"  fiend,  though 
his  talk  gave  no  hint  of  it.  He  proved  to  be  a  lumber-jack, 
apparently  in  funds  and  taking  a  little  loaf  in  town  after 
several  weeks  of  casual  labor  in  Duluth.  His  talk  showed 
him  surprisingly  thoughtful  and  reasonable.  If  he  found 
himself  in  a  lumber  camp  where  the  food  was  rotten,  bed- 
bugs prolific,  ventilation  bad,  a  bath  impossible,  the  boss 
mean,  and  the  cook  distilling  alcohol,  he  would  probably 
follow  the  I.  W.  W.  organizer  without  much  compunction. 


IN  THE   IRON-MINES  209 

He  did  not  report  any  one  camp  as  showing  all  of  these  in- 
citements, but  told  of  various  partial  combinations  of  the 
list. 

"Wages  are  bein'  cut  now  from  the  'fifty-five  dollars  and 
found'  a  month  a  lumberman  gets,  with  five  dollars  or 
ten  dollars  more  for  sawin'  and  drivin',  but  products  seems 
to  be  goin'  higher.  Some  of  the  camps,  I  will  say,  are  get- 
tin'  a  lot  better — and  that's  a  good  thing,  too.  In  some  the 
eats  are  wonderful." 

He  thinks  he  is  too  old  to  learn  millwrighting  or  any  similar 
trade  now,  though  he  is  not  yet  out  of  his  thirties. 

"No,  I've  never  had  no  chance  at  that  sort  o'  thing — not 
where  I  could  earn  anything  like  enough  while  I  was  learn- 
in',  you  understand." 

Iron  Range  Country, 
July  26th. 

A  busy  day. 

One  captain  I  found  underground  after  going  down  the 
side  of  the  cut  and  walking  in  through  the  passage  to  "the 
bottom,"  160  feet  below  top  surface.  ...  He  could  offer 
no  work,  but  he  very  considerately  let  me  go  along  through 
the  different  passages.  The  miners  working  "at  the  face" 
had  carbide  lamps — there  is  no  gas  in  these  mines — and  cer- 
tainly needed  their  rubber  boots.  The  timbering  required 
of  them  looked  very  difficult  for  the  thirteen-foot  vein. 
The  shovelling  is,  of  course,  a  lot  heavier  than  in  soft  coal. 
An  average  of  nine  dollars  for  an  eight-hour  day  seems  to 
be  considered  very  good. 

The  captain  is  a  young  man  of  foreign  parents — light- 
haired  and  friendly  eyed — who  has  made  good  use  of  ambi- 
tion, application,  and  correspondence  schools. 

"We  think  we  move  men  along  faster  than  in  the  other 
companies,  but  we  don't  push  any  but  American-born  onto 
the  shovels  or  other  machines.  We  contrive  to  give  very 
steady  work  to  everybody.  And  even  when  we  find  a  man 


210        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

getting  a  great  big  stake  out  of  some  location  we've  given 
him  we  never,  never  cut  our  rate  to  him — as  too  many  com- 
panies do.  Oftentimes  we  have  to  raise  the  rate  where  the 
goin's  bad.  When  there  was  a  big  strike  up  here  two  years 
ago  our  men  stuck  by  us.  ...  We  don't  believe  in  loud- 
talking  bosses — if  they  don't  get  a  man  to  work  by  leading 
hun  into  it  we  fire  the  man — or  the  boss.  .  .  .  Yes,  there's 
some  danger  here  even  after  the  State  makes  all  its  inspec- 
tions. In  one  mine  in  the  district  a  mass  of  rock  came  down 
when  lightning  'pre-exploded'  a  score  or  more  of  tons  of 
powder  that  had  been  planted  and  ready.  If  all  of  the 
thirty  charges  had  gone  off  instead  of  ten,  it  would  have 
killed  fifty  instead  of  eighteen  men.  I  don't  see  how  it 
could  have  been  prevented." 

"The  captain? — oh,  he's  square  and  everybody  likes 
him.  You  gotta  give  him  a  fair  day's  work,  but  he's  decent 
about  it,"  said  a  well- trimmed  young  chap  who  kept  the 
wash-house. 

"I'm  as  old  as  he  is,  but  I  guess  I'll  never  be  a  mine  cap- 
tain. .  .  .  Well,  for  one  thing  I  like  booze  too  much.  .  .  . 
Get  it?  Sure  you  can  get  it.  Why,  a  man  I  know  here 
made  $15,000  hi  one  year  of  blind-piggin'.  He  has  a  swell 
auto  now.  His  wife  had  to  spend  the  whole  day  takin' 
the  stuff  down  to  the  store  hi  the  baby-buggy.  At  the  end 
of  the  year  he  was  caught  and  had  to  pay  a  fine.  'Twas 
fifty  dollars!  .  .  .  But  I  live  with  my  aunt  here  and  I 
wouldn't  bring  it  here,  so  a  friend  and  I  go  over  to  other 
'dry'  towns  and  get  enough  for  a  good  time.  That's  why 
I  don't  save.  A  fellow  can  save  if  he  wants  to  in  one  of 
them  lumber  camps,  but  most  of  'em  move  on  as  soon  as 
they  get  a  'Michigan  stake'  of  forty  dollars  or  so.  Some 
do  nothin'  but  stay  for  two  or  three  meals  without  workin' 
and  then  go  on  to  the  next  camp.  But  timber's  no  job — 
too  many  lice,  too  rough.  .  .  .  Unions?  Well,  I'm  sore 
on  'em.  When  I  was  makin'  eight  and  nine  dollars  hi  a  lum- 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  211 

her  mill  up  there,  they  come  along  and  proposed  boostin' 
some  of  the  unskilled  men  and  kids  in  a  way  that  sure  was 
foolish.  And  it  didn't  get  anybody  anywheres,  either,  then, 
though  they  may  try  it  again  later.  .  .  .  Here? — it's  a 
good  place  here — five  dollars  per  for  my  job — eight  hours. 
Lots  o'  fellows  a'  been  here  a  long  time  and  they  all  swear 
by  it.  If  you  don't  believe  they  live  well  and  dress  well, 
take  a  look  in  their  dinner-pails  this  noon  or  go  and  see 
the  white  shirts  in  the  lockers  over  there." 

On  the  way  back  to  town  a  Slovenian  worker  on  crutches, 
unshaved,  sick  and  sad  looking,  told  of  his  accident  in  the 
mine,  and  seemed  very  hopeless  about  getting  much  com- 
pensation money  from  the  State  fund: 

"Twelf'  or  fifteen  dollar  week  not  much — not  for  family 
man." 

He  had  been  a  year  or  more  with  nearly  every  company 
and  was  equally  unenthusiastic  about  them  all. 

At  R ,  a  few  miles  distant,  a  fireman's  tournament 

was  under  way — with  the  supposedly  dry  saloons  openly 
selling  whiskey,  with  chuck-a-luck  and  other  gambling 
games  going  on  everywhere. 

The  superintendent  of  the  biggest  mine  there  seemed  very 
intelligent  and  wholesome :  besides,  sympathetic  toward  my 
condition. 

"We've  got  nothing  here  for  you.  Sorry.  .  .  .  No, 
we  have  no  rules  requiring  a  man  to  start  in  any  certain 
work.  We  try  to  place  them  according  to  our  needs  and 

push  them  as  they  deserve.  Company,  I  understand, 

has  classes  on  mining,  but  nobody  can  be  a  captain  there 
unless  he's  an  engineer.  .  .  .  Yes,  some  foreigners  are  as 
ambitious  as  you'd  want.  We  won't  let  anybody  be  a  fore- 
man unless  he  has  his  papers;  we  find  those  in  his  gang 
who  have  theirs  feel  superior  to  him.  .  .  .  Well,  I  claim 
no  nationality  is  either  good  or  bad.  They're  mixed  and 
you've  got  to  treat  'em  as  individuals — and  treat  'em  square. 


212        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

I  don't  see  any  signs  of  trouble  here  now — at  least  not 
among  our  350  men." 

As  might  be  expected  from  such  a  man,  the  "stock  pile" 
showed  a  good  supply  of  ore  from  the  continuous  under- 
ground and  inside  work  of  the  preceding  winter.  With 
good  luck  it  would  be  shipped  down  the  lakes  before  navi- 
gation closed,  when  the  men  could  be  kept  steadily  on  the 
job  again  replenishing  it,  and  the  whole  place  showed  very 
good  care  and  attention. 

At  another  big  mine  near  by  the  swarthy,  heavy-set  mine 
captain  pulled  his  long  mustache  with  the  fingers  of  reminis- 
cence and  said  he  had  mined  almost  everywhere  and  would- 
n't return  to  soft  coal  "if  they  gave  me  the  whole  country." 

"Oh,  sure,  you  can  take  care  o'  yourself  all  right  where 
the  gas  is,  but  how  do  you  know  but  what  some  fool  down 
the  entry  is  goin'  to  send  you  all  to  kingdom-come  with  his 
ignorance  or  carelessness?  That's  what  I  allus  used  to 
keep  thinkin'." 

"I'd  have  to  start  you  hi  with  a  gang  timberin',"  he  said 
finally.  "That's  $5.25  for  eight  hours  and  pretty  hard 
work,  too.  The  fellows  that  mine  are  mostly  foreign  and 
prefer  buddies  of  their  own  nationality — though  they  do 
work  best  under  an  American  boss.  But  if  I  was  you  I'd 
start  in  the  open  pits;  there  it's  nothin'  but  practically 
railroadin'." 

Though  he  used  ore  instead  of  coal  terms — for  instance, 
"back"  instead  of  "roof" — he  had  many  memories  of  his 
coal  days,  especially  of  some  mules  he  had  known. 

"I  mind  me  o'  one  driver  who  could  'sic'  his  mule  onto 
anybody — and  you  had  to  climb  outa  there  quick,  too.  .  .  . 
Aw,  they're  a  bad  lot — them  mules — and  I'm  glad  we 
have  nothin'  but  electricity  up  here.  I  know  one  boy  had 
trained  his  animal  but  never  trusted  him  an  instant  durin' 
two  years,  till  one  day — for  some  reason — he  got  careless 
and  picked  up  a  whip  by  the  beast's  heels.  That  is,  he 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  213 

tried  to.  He  got  it  right  in  the  stomach — died  in  an 
hour." 

He  is  sure  his  company  are  the  best  employers  on  the 
range. 

A  young  Swedish  boiler-maker  waited  along  with  me  for 
the  train  back  to  town.  He  has  recently  set  up  for  himself 
and  is  evidently  not  making  it  very  well — is  consequently 
rather  sore  on  things. 

"I  can't  bring  on  my  family  from  Montana  because  there 

are  no  houses  anywhere  except  at  L .  At  M they're 

paying  eighteen  dollars  a  month  for  one  room  and  living  in 
tents.  But  at  that  I  may  jump  the  whole  blamed  country. 
.  .  .  Oh,  yes,  I  used  to  work  for  that  outfit,  but  never 
again!  Why,  they're  reg'lar  slave-drivers.  Every  second 
man  in  the  place  is  a  foreman  or  some  kind  of  a  boss.  And 
even  at  that  they  can't  give  an  ordinary  worker  much  at- 
tention. One  winter  I  went  every  day  out  of  workin'  in 
steam  heat  'way  above  a  hundred  degrees  out  into  the  cold 
away  below  zero — with  my  wet  underwear  a-stickin'  to 
me.  After  a  few  weeks  o'  that,  all  I  felt  like  doin'  an  hour 
after  goin'  to  work  was  to  sit  down.  So  I  quit.  .  .  .  Over- 
time !  I  should  say  they  do  give  a  man  overtime.  Why, 
I  tell  you,  I  used  to  get  checks  there  of  more  than  $200 — 
more'n  $100  a  week !  But  say !  I  was  so  busy  and  so 
tired  that  I  didn't  care  a  whoop  about  walkin'  across  the 
street  to  cash  it!  Just  all  in — done  out.  That's  no  life 
at  all.  No,  sirree,  never  again  will  I  work  for  them !  The 
-  people  I  think  are  the  best  of  all — square  and  ready  to 
do  the  right  thing.  But  to  get  on  most  anywhere,  you've 
got  to  have  a  drag — or  else  marry  the  boss's  daughter.  .  .  . 
Boiler-makin's  good  work — you  can  average  $8.50  a  day. 
Of  course  you're  too  deef  to  hear  anything  at  dinner,  though 
it  wears  off  soon  after  you  stop  the  day's  work.  But  it'll 
make  you  deef  for  life  all  right  enough  if  you  keep  at  it." 

He  got  off  at  X ,  after  he  had  told  me  about  that 


214        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

town's  wonderful  schools,  amusement  building  with  a  curl- 
ing floor,  and  the  great  ski- jump  incline  just  outside. 

Before  turning  in  I  found  my  lumber-jack  at  the  reading- 
room  again.  He  is  a  surprisingly  sane  chap  on  many  lines, 
considering  that  he  has  had  no  chances  to  see  much  normal 
life.  "You  see,  they's  no  chance  to  meet  decent  girls  when 
you  must  spend  most  o'  your  time  hi  a  lumber  camp." 

As  we  talked  a  boy  joined  us  who  had  had  his  leg  badly 

hurt  at  the Company.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  it  was 

his  own  fault  that  he  had  not  got  a  better  settlement  on 
it,  and  appeared  enthusiastic  about  the  company  and  the 
chance  it  gave  for  advancement. 

Here  comes  a  band — at  bedtime  and  past !  It's  leading 

the  baseball  team  which  defeated  B at  a  game  begun 

at  six-forty-five  this  evening.  Daylight  saving  is  a  great 
affair,  especially  here  in  the  north.  Last  night,  about  eight, 
a  big  crowd  of  us  enjoyed  a  first-class  game  on  the  school 
grounds  between  fathers  and  sons. 

It  seems  to  be  a  great  place  for  the  youngsters — and  not 
very  bad  for  anybody  else,  so  far  as  I  can  see. 

P.  S. — The  evening  paper  tells  that  the  school  census 
shows  fathers  of  29  nationalities,  with  175  more  of  them 
born  Finns  than  Americans !  Family  life  appears  to  be 
equally  exciting  for  them  all — an  advertisement  that  "My 
wife  has  left  my  bed  and  board,  so  I  will  not  be  responsible 
for  any  bills"  is  signed  by  Husam  Afghan ! 

Iron  Ranges,  Minn., 
July  27. 

At  one  open-pit  mine  hi  L this  morning  the  red-haired 

superintendent  was  shy  on  work,  but  obligingly  long  on 
information.  It  seems  fairly  easy  for  a  wanter  of  work  to 
talk  with  the  boss,  because  the  office  is  usually  out  hi  the 
country  where  a  stranger  seems  interesting  even  if  he  looks 
as  tough  as  I  do. 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  215 

He  is  sure  the  Finns  who  make  trouble  are  the  latest 
over;  the  best  ones  are  those  who  came  some  thirty  years 
ago  or  so,  at  the  time  of  a  temperance  movement  in  Finland, 
and  brought  their  temperance  societies  with  them — a  fine 
lot  of  workers.  If  he  is  right,  it  means  that  most  of  the 
agitation  in  the  iron  country  has  been  caused  by  the  vic- 
tims of  autocratic  Russia's  programme  of  ruthless  treatment 
of  the  Finns  contrary  to  its  sacred  promises.  When  these 
came  over  they  brought  that  idea  of  government  along  with 
them.  According  to  that,  it  looks  as  though  all  govern- 
ments, like  all  employers,  are  in  the  same  boat — with  the 
sins  of  one  visited  on  all  the  others.  Apparently,  the  labor 
problem  must  be  viewed  as  not  merely  a  national  but  an  in- 
ternational problem. 

According  to  him,  the  town's  schools  and  other  advan- 
tages are  taken  as  a  matter  of  course  by  all  the  foreign-born, 
with  none  of  them  interested  nowadays  in  doing  a  good  day's 
work. 

"I  started  out  tryin'  to  treat  'em  fine  and  make  'em  my 
friends,  but  after  they'd  thrown  me  down  a  few  times  when 
I  asked  'em  to  work  overtime,  I  cut  it  out.  Now  I  try  to 
be  square,  but  show  'em  there's  to  be  no  foolin' — and  they 
do  pretty  well  for  me.  At  least  they're  anxious  to  do  over- 
time work." 

He  is  more  for  rough  treatment  of  his  men  than  any  other 
superintendent  or  captain  met  on  the  range,  and,  it  is  signifi- 
cant and  important  to  add,  more  fearful  of  trouble.  I'll 
wager  quite  a  lot  he's  lonesome  and  unhappy — and  therefore 
unduly  pessimistic  about  things  and,  especially,  people. 

The  town's  other  mine  is  shut  down — all  the  officials  out 
of  town.  Some  children  assured  me  that  their  fathers  and 
most  of  the  others  who  regularly  worked  there  were  now 
busy  in  near-by  mines.  They  also  are  enthusiastic  about 
their  schools  and  their  teachers. 

A  lean,  unshaven,  but  shrewd-looking  young  merchant 


216       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

fell  easily  to  mentioning  with  pride  both  the  buildings  he 
had  earned  and  also  a  twelve-thousand-dollar  loss  he  had 
been  able  to  weather  in  an  unlucky  mine  venture  out  West. 
He  thinks  the  workers  are  all  pretty  contented,  with  the 
town's  prosperity  good  for  at  least  fifty  years  more,  be- 
cause, so  far,  the  mining  companies  are  working  only  those 
properties  on  which  they  hold  short  leases,  holding  for  later 
development  their  own  properties.  He  was  evidently 
bothered  to  place  me.  In  a  lull  in  the  conversation  I 
opined:  "It's  a  great  life  if  you  don't  weaken — and  the  devil 
if  you  do." 

He  took  it  for  an  opening,  and  came  back: 
"You've  got  a  weakness,  then,  eh?  .  .  .    Booze,  mebbe  ?" 
A  mine  superintendent  or  captain  at  K—  — ,  a  few  miles 
farther  on,  is  of  a  rough  but  substantial  type,  who  had  left 
railroading  in  a  dull  period,  started  firing  on  a  steam-shovel, 
and  worked  from  one  position  to  another  till  his  present 
success. 

As  of  all  the  others,  my  inquiries  about  his  way  of  han- 
dling his  men — and  some  that  work  up  are  the  ones  who  be- 
lieve most  hi  the  "rough  stuff"— were  made  in  an  off- 
hand way  after  we  had  discussed  the  various  jobs  he  might 
have  for  me.  Here  is  the  best  stuff  I've  run  into  yet: 

"I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  send  a  man  where  I'm  unwill- 
ing to  go  myself — or  take  any  chances  I'm  leary  of  takin'. 
I've  had  only  one  man  killed  and  that  was  his  fault  alto- 
gether. ...  I  don't  believe  in  talkin'  rough  with  the  men. 
When  things  are  going  fine  I  don't  mind  usin'  considerable 
profanity.  But  when  there's  trouble  and  it's  tune  for  the 
men  to  do  their  best,  then  you  never  hear  me  swearin'  or 
jawin'.  Well,  I  guess,  it's  because  I  know  I  never  do  my 
best  for  anybody  that  tries  to  push  me  that  way. 

"If  a  man  won't  work  without  somebody  swearin'  at 
him,  I  take  him  to  one  side — never  with  others  around— 
and  say  it's  'more  work,  Joe,'  or  get  out.'  If  he  stays  he 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  217 

knows  for  one  thing  I'll  never  cut  a  rate  on  him.  .  .  .  Yes, 
our  company  gives  a  super  his  head — if  they  don't  trust 

him  they  don't  keep  him.  The people  don't  do  that. 

They  have  all  sorts  of  bosses  and  officials,  and  everybody 
passes  the  buck  to  everybody  else — till  it  gets  down  to  the 
head  office.  And  by  that  time  it's  too  late  and  nothin's 
done.  What  is  it  they  call  it — yes,  'absentee  management/ 
Bad  stuff.  .  .  .  Give  me  my  minin'  underground — it's 
more  interesting  always  some  new  information  or  some- 
thing to  figure  out.  Well,  you  come  around  Monday  and 
maybe  I  can  find  a  foreigner  who'll  take  you  on  below 
ground  for  his  buddy.  So  long." 

A  large  part  of  Hibbing,  the  "richest  village  in  the  world," 
is  being  moved  to  Alice  in  order  to  permit  stripping  off  the 
top  dirt  and  getting  at  the  rich  deposits  beneath.  Even 
without  this  enlargement  the  town's  pit  is  a  world-beater ! 
As  you  look  across  it,  you  think  you  have  gauged  its  size 
correctly — until  the  locating  of  a  distant  whistle  makes  you 
focus  your  eyes  on  a  train  hitherto  invisible  halfway  up 
the  farther  wall  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  away !  With 
its  numerous  shovels  busily  puffing  and  loading  the  red  or 
yellow  ore  into  the  cars,  and  a  score  of  engines  laboring  to 
pull  these  up  the  grade  to  the  assembling  train,  it  makes  a 
good  picture  of  industry's  far-flung  frontiers. 

These  steam-shovels  are  wonderful!  For  concentration 
on  their  job,  commend  me  to  them — as  they  bite  into  the 
side  of  the  hill  with  their  enormous  maw,  while  the  steam- 
puffings  grow  slower  and  slower  as  though  all  but  foiled  and 
exhausted,  and  the  platform  and  "spar"  quake  with  the 
threat  of  defeat — only  to  come  through  it  triumphantly 
with  the  shovel  full  to  overflowing  and  the  exhaust  singing 
joyously !  Then,  before  you  know  it,  the  shovel  has  been 
raised  and  for  the  barest  fraction  of  a  second  poised  over 
the  waiting  car,  the  rope  has  been  pulled  to  let  the  tons  of 
ore  fall  through,  and  immediately  the  great  mouth  has  been 


218       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

swung  down  and  at  it  again  for  another  bite,  its  bottom 
swinging  as  it  goes  like  some  giant  licking  his  chops  in 
worker-like  satisfaction. 
Why  doesn't  somebody  write  the  "Song  of  the  Shovel"? 

"Oh,  I  am  the  shovel,  the  Great  Steam  Shovel,  earth  opens 

at  my  command 
And  pours  her  treasure  in  fullest  measure  into  man's  open 

hand!" 

Something  like  that  it  should  go. 

Before  leaving  town  for  Duluth  I  asked  a  husky  but  leg- 
less and  half-fingered  beggar  if  he  was  the  same  chap  I  had 
noticed  in  two  other  mine  towns  where  they  were  celebrating. 
A  moment  later  I  sat  down  on  my  suit-case  by  his  side  so 
as  to  leave  him  and  his  open  cap  free  for  the  passers-by  and 
their  dimes  and  nickels. 

His  red,  weathered  face  lighted  up  surprisingly,  and  he 
showed  a  very  friendly  but  quick  pair  of  eyes,  and  a  ready, 
conciliating  tongue.  All  of  these,  I  suppose,  are  important 
in  giving  him  his  chance  to  earn  his  daily  income  over  an 
amazing  part  of  the  country's  geography: 

"Oh,  yes,  I  try  to  be  around  at  all  such  things  as  fire- 
men's tournaments.  But  that  was  no  good  there  yesterday. 
Motor  equipment — that's  drivin'  the  hook-and-ladder  run- 
ners off  the  boards.  .  .  .  Sure,  that  keeps  me  movin'. 
To-day  week  I'll  be  at  R in  Wisconsin,  a  week  later  at 

— ,  Iowa,  and  two  weeks  later  at  K ,  North  Dakota. 

.  .  .  Oh,  them's  all  circus  days  there.  Ye  see,  I  follow 

X 's  circus  forty  or  fifty  days  every  year — a  fine  bunch 

of  boys  they  are,  too.  When  it  gets  me  out  to  Montana 
I'll  beat  it  to  a  fine  list  of  towns  in  Georgia  and  Florida.  .  .  . 
Yes,  the  police  in  all  them  places  know  me  and  I  just  report 
at  headquarters  and  say  I'll  be  around  for  a  coupla  days, 
and  they  tell  me  they're  glad  to  see  me  again  and  wish  me 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  219 

luck.  (Thank  you,  ma'am,  thank  you,  very  kindly.)  .  .  . 
Nope,  nothin'  doin'  in  any  of  the  big  eastern  cities — they 
don't  give  me  no  show  at  all.  .  .  .  Well,  it's  about  fifteen 
years  I  been  doin'  it.  First,  I  just  took  the  atlas  and  laid 
out  a  circular  trip,  and  when  I'd  covered  it  once  I  knew  the 
best  places  and  then  made  'em  onct  a  year. 

"These  foreigners  up  here  and  the  colored  people  down 
South — they're  the  ones  that  keep  me  goin'.  If  two  Ameri- 
can women  come  by  and  one  edges  my  way,  the  other  pulls 
her  elbow  and  says,  'Why,  he's  makin'  more  than  you  or 
me  or  our  husbands' — and  they  pass  by.  But  the  foreigners 
—they  seem  to  think,  'Why,  money  or  no  money,  I  wouldn't 
be  that  way  for  a  million,'  and  when  one  edges  over  they 
all  dig  down.  (Thank  you  kindly,  lady.)  There,  see !  She's 
the  wife,  I'd  say,  of  a  Lithusian  (Lithuanian).  .  .  .  And  if 
they  ain't  nothing  to  give  they'll  say  'Good  mornin"  or 
'How's  poor  John?'  or  something  and  that  makes  me  feel 
good  and  that  I  ain't  the  dirt  under  their  feet.  Say,  if  I'd 
'a'  kept  a  diary  I  c'ud  write  a  book  I'll  bet  I  could  sell  for 
a  dollar  and  a  hah"  if  I  could  sell  it  for  a  cent." 

On  the  way  down  a  painter  told  of  having  given  up  the 
very  unsteady  line  of  contract  work,  "with  help  so  expen- 
sive and  all,"  for  a  steady  job  with  the  railroad  at  about 
five  dollars  a  day.  He  seemed  to  think  very  highly  of  the 
personal  advantage  of  an  occasional  pass  down  to  Wash- 
ington or  other  such  place,  even  though  he  had  to  forego 
his  earnings  for  the  time. 

On  the  whole,  the  iron  country  seems  to  present  a  very 
definite  problem  of  Americanization,  which  is  getting  pretty 
definite  attention  of  the  right  sort.  It  looks,  too,  as  though 
the  least  trouble  is  to  be  expected  by  those  employers  who 
most  emphasize  decent  wages,  with  the  rate  never  cut, 
steady,  year-round  work  and  square  human  treatment  by 
the  foreman  on  the  job. 

Though  I've  taken  no  job,  I  rather  think  I  have  a  better 


220        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

idea  of  the  Range's  thought  about  worker  and  " super" 
than  if  I  had  settled  down  to  a  dinner-pail  hi  one  place. 
"Leastways"  it  appears  to  be  a  good  way  of  getting  both 
groups  to  talking,  this  asking  for  a  job  and  looking  as 
though  you  needed  it. 

Northwesterly, 
July  29. 

Yesterday  afternoon  two  of  us  waited  for  nearly  an  hour 
to  see  the  employment  manager  of  a  big  plant.  A  cigarette 
got  the  other  waiter  to  talking.  He  was  a  young  and  well- 
tanned  Norwegian,  muscular  but  spare,  with  good  teeth 
and  a  clean-moulded  face  that  did  not  go  well  with  his 
rough  clothes. 

"You  see,  I  work  here  before — it's  one  of  best  companies 
to  work  for.  I  hope  get  my  old  yob  back." 

"My  first  boss  here — he  made  me  trouble.  You  see  I 
know  nothing  about  steel-yard  when  I  take  yob.  The  first 
night  my  boss  see  me  know  nothing  and  he  say  nothing. 
But  the  second  night,  because  I  do  not  understand,  he  call 
me  name.  I  tell  him,  'You  first  man  to  call  me  that,  and 
you'll  be  last,'  and  I  pick  up  bar  iron  and  he  run  and  I  run. 
But  he  get  away — and  stay  away  long  time.  When  he 
come  back  he  laugh  and  say:  'You  all  right,  Buddy,  and  I 
won't  call  you  that  no  more.' 

"And  then  one  night  he  come  to  me  and  say,  'I  drunk 
to-night.'  I  say,  'I  can't  help  it,'  and  pretty  soon  he  go  off 
and  sleep.  I  had  to  tell  the  mixer-boss  where  he  was,  so 
they  two  get  mad  and  in  the  morning  outside  the  gate  they 
two  fighted  and  he  got  two  black  eyes — besides  gettin' 
fired. 

"I  remember  one  boss  in  powder-mill  in  Wisconsin.  He 
fired  us  all  out  from  eating  in  warm  room  so  he  could  eat 
there  himself  alone.  All  right — till  winter  come  and  we  all 
eat  out  in  the  rain  and  cold.  And  then  one  day  the  boys 
all  take  out  their  knives — they  make  me  come  along — and 


IN  THE   IRON-MINES  221 

they  tell  him:  'We  kill  you  quick  if  we  cannot  eat  in  here.' 
He  how  was  scared !  He  said  'all  right'  quick. 

"  But  one  boss  I  had — he  was  fine.  Fine,  good  man  he  was. 
We  all  like  him  and  on  account  we  like  him,  you  know,  we 
all  work  for  him  harder — we  work  for  him  like  devil.  My, 
he  was  good,  fine  man ! 

"You  know  for  another  boss  here,  I  sleep  free  mont's; 
every  night  I  go  off  and  sleep.  The  boss  he  tell  me  to.  He 
think  more  work  come  soon  and  he  want  me  'stick  around 
but  keep  outa  sight' !" 

Finally  the  employment  manager  came  in  carrying  his 
rough-looking  red  head  far  back  of  his  feet  in  some  way, 
but  smiling. 

"Nothin'  to-day,  boys,  come  around  to-morrow  at  eight 
o'clock,"  he  said.  "The  merchant  mill's  full" — to  the 
Norwegian,  who  cursed  the  company  roundly  as  we  went 
out  to  the  car.  But  there  some  of  his  old  pals  seemed  to 
give  assurance  of  getting  him  in,  and  he  was  happier  when 
he  waved  me  good-by. 

As  usual,  I  tried  to  get  a  line  on  the  probabilities  of  get- 
ting work  if  we  came  at  eight,  but  as  usual  could  not. 

The  employment  man  was,  however,  decent  enough  to 
express  regret  this  morning  when  he  finally  showed  up 
after  eight-thirty. 

"I  come  up  here  from  Bayonne  because  my  brother  he 

write  from  S ,"  said  a  Slavish  man  who  waited  with 

me.  "I  live  here  in  company  house  long  time.  Rent  very 
cheap — your  fuel  from  company  cheap,  too.  .  .  .  Classes  ? 
Well,  I  leave  Poland  seven  years  old — fourth  grade  only. 
Study?  Yes,  like  to,  but  how  can — with  twelve  hours 
work  and  little  garden  besides?" 

"Foreman?  Some  good,  some  bad.  I  do  best  for  one 
who  is  gentleman  and  treats  like  gentleman.  How  men 
work  for  him,  that  depends  on  his  character." 

I  take  off  my  hat  for  his  quiet  thoughtfulness — also  for 


222        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

his  not  feeling  unfriendly  to  the  company  though  very  sorry 
that  within  two  months  after  being  laid  off  last  spring  he 
had  been  asked  to  vacate  his  company  house,  and  had 
hard  work  to  find  either  a  job  or  a  house  in  a  near-by 
city. 

"The  men  on  the  long  turns  on  the  open-hearth,  etc., 
call  it  a  dog's  life,  but  plan  to  stand  it  for  a  while  and  then 
beat  it  with  the  stake  they  can  save,"  a  substantial-looking 
worker  put  it.  "  Lately  a  first  helper  let  a  heat  go  through 
the  bottom.  He  was  fired.  The  one  on  the  other  turn 
came  and  saw  and  ran  away — quit.  Both  are  old  before 
their  time — tired  all  the  time.  I'd  bet  money  that  over- 
work caused  the  disaster — the  (Aw-to-h with-it'  spirit. 

The  minister  here  complained  of  the  long  hours  and  seven- 
day  week  to  the  'super/  and  his  chairman  of  trustees  was 
told  to  tell  him  to  mind  his  own  business.  The  solitary 
Protestant  church  has  a  hard  time  because  nobody  owns 
either  his  home  or  his  job,  and  so  hates  to  put  very  much 
money  to  help  build  a  church  he  may  never  have  a  chance 
to  enjoy.  Just  lately  one  of  the  deacons,  long  a  leading 
resident,  got  his  quit  notice;  he  has  no  idea  for  what  reason. 
The  plant  super  once  broke  a  nasty  strike  at  another  plant. 
He  is  pretty  much  boss  of  the  town — tells  the  school  head 
what  he'll  stand  for  in  education  and  what  he  won't.  The 
man  he  put  in  as  secretary  of  the  Men's  Club  is  every  so 
often  found  drunk  on  the  job.  On  the  'floor'  there's  one 
gang-boss  who  is  much  respected.  The  men  say :  '  When  he 
calls  us  down  we  know  we  deserve  it.  He  tells  what  he 
wants  done,  ordinarily,  and  that's  enough — we  do  it.": 

The  town  is  certainly  beautifully  laid  out  and  maintained. 
It  would  look,  too,  as  if  the  H.  C.  L.  were  well  tamed  by  a 
company  apparently  anxious  to  make  the  place  as  attrac- 
tive as  it  can  be  made  with  the  long  work-day  and  without 
personal  home  ownership. 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  223 

Northwesterly,  July  30. 

At  the  local  employment  office  they  referred  me  to  a 
shipyard  whose  ad  for  "50  reamers,  50  bolters,  10  black- 
smiths, helpers.  Steady  work"  I  had  seen.  Back  of  other 
counters  in  the  government  agency  are  representatives  of 
various  lumber-camps,  iron-mines,  saw-mills,  etc.,  out  hi 
the  country.  They  certainly  paint  a  great  picture:  "New 
camp,  good  chuck,  steady  job,  fine  treatment — $4.85  a 
day,"  etc. 

On  the  same  street  a  number  of  the  private  hiring  agents 
stand  at  their  doors  and  buttonhole  the  passing  job- 
seekers. 

One  of  them  caught  a  tartar.  As  I  came  by  a  drunken 
Slav  came  reeling  out  showing  his  bleeding  knuckles. 

"The  devil  he  get  me  in.  He  tell  me  I  no  know  the  place 

he  tell  about,  and  call  me  Bohunk.  He  nothing  but  a 

Finn  heemself,  and  I  hit  heem — hard." 

Later  this  same  agent,  with  the  red  mark  still  showing 
across  his  forehead,  drew  me  into  his  dark  lair  and  almost 
pushed  his  blanks  and  tickets  into  my  pockets  while  selling 
out  his  own  client: 

"Thees  a  fine  job — laying  track  near ,  Mich.  Good 

camp,  good  chuck,  an'  everything,  $4.20  a  day.  Take  train 
at  free  o'clock  to-day — I  need  joost  one  more.  Free  ticket 
for  ten  dollars  wort'  of  travel.  Good  pay.  Eef  you  don't 
like,  you  work  one,  two  day  and  go  on,  and  you  that  mooch 
nearer  Ohio." 

And  he  would  get  another  fee  for  supplying  another 
worker ! 

Past  these  doors,  looking  at  this  notice  or  that,  flock  the 
human  wreckage  of  the  lumber-camps  and  the  railway 
gangs. 

One  of  the  agents  who  had  been  in  the  government's  em- 
ployment service — and  thought  he  knew  several  reasons  for 
its  recent  demise — knew  most  of  them. 


224        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

"That  chap  there  in  the  blue  mackinaw,  he's  been  around 
here  for  fifteen  years.  Maybe  he'll  have  fifteen  jobs  during 
the  summer — out  and  in,  in  and  out,  all  the  tune.  He 
wants  booze  and  he  wants  a  change.  As  long  as  he  can  get 
free  transportation,  what's  the  odds?  Of  course  not  many 
are  giving  that  now  except  the  railroads. 

"But  it  ain't  what  it  used  to  be.  Why,  I've  seen  men  come 
in  here  with  a  big  wad  of,  say,  $2,000,  and  blow  it  all  in- 
just  throw  it  around.  Many  men  just  made  a  living  by 
bumming  off  them — they'd  just  as  soon  give  you  a  "V"  as 
a  nickel — if  they  had  it.  One  fellow  stole  his  pal's  roll  of 
$150.  He  hid  it  while  the  police  searched  him,  and  then 
went  and  spent  it  on  his  pal,  the  owner,  and  himself.  He 
told  me  his  pal  wasn't  spendin'  it  fast  enough !" 

"In  the  old  days  we  used  to  throw  'em  onto  the  trains 
and  then  throw  'em  off  on  the  snow.  When  they  so- 
bered up  and  got  a  stake  again,  back  they'd  be  with  us 
again." 

"Well,  the  drunker  ye  be,"  said  one  philosopher  I  hob- 
nobbed with,  "the  less  ye'll  be  a-mindin'  of  the  flies  and  the 
bugs  in  the  camp;  and  by  the  time  ye're  sober  ye're  used 
to  it,  see?  Or  if  ye  ain't  ye  can  quit  and  come  back  here 
and  go  som'ers  else.  .  .  .  But  take  my  advice,  stick  by 
yer  boats  and  leave  luniber-camps  alone.  I'm  tellin'  ye 
'tis  a  dog's  life." 

Some  of  his  pals  wandered  up  and  the  discussion  went 
on  to  the  comparative  merits  of  such  substitutes  as  hair- 
tonic,  wood-alcohol,  etc. 

The  boss,  who  is  often  in  cahoots  with  these  private 
employment  agencies  and  shares  their  fees  for  hirings,  and 
then  fires  to  permit  others  to  be  hired,  is  partly  responsible 
for  breaking  down  the  morale  of  these  former  workers. 
These  are  the  ones,  too,  who  Professor  Carlton  Parker  be- 
lieved were  the  result  of  their  homeless,  voteless,  and  women- 
less  life — often  trying  to  find  in  the  I.  W.  W.'s  beliefs  the 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  225 

opportunity  to  express  evilly  the  instincts  their  abnormal 
life  forbade  them  to  express  wholesomely. 

It  was  one  of  these  unshaven,  low-voiced  chaps  that  I 
ran  into  one  night  in  Cleveland  some  years  ago.  He  was 
the  secretary  of  an  international  hoboes  union.  I  insulted 
him  by  letting  him  see  that  to  me  a  hobo,  a  tramp,  and  a 
bum  were  all  the  same.  He  was  excited  as  he  fired  back 
at  me: 

"Say,  you  don't  suppose  I'd  be  a  tramp,  do  you?  But 
do  you  know  that  this  country  couldn't  exist  without  us 
'boes!  The  Northwest's  gotta  have  us  guys  -work  at 
lumber  in  the  winter  and  then  Oklahoma's  gotta  have  us 
work  in  wheat  in  summer,  and  we  gotta  make  quick  con- 
nections, too,  or  the  crop  spoils.  So  we  gotta  take  the 
train  and  we  don't  believe  in  spendin'  money  on  fares.  But 
a  tramp ! — Huh !  He  just  walks  from  job  to  job  because 
he  don't  care  whether  he  ever  gets  there  or  not — and  nobody 
else  does,  neither.  A  bum — well,  he's  no  good  whatever. 
He  just  bums  a  drink  or  a  sandwich  off  people  from  day  to 
day,  'thout  doin'  nothin'  worth  while  for  it.  A  tramp  is 
miles  above  a  bum." 

So  I'll  wager  that  more  of  my  new  friends  of  this  after- 
noon are  still  hanging  on  somehow  to  their  self-respect  than 
anybody  in  earth  or  heaven  would  ever  suspect.  Two 
boys  to-day  said  they  left  their  last  camp  because  they 
had  to  walk  four  miles  to  get  a  postage-stamp.  They 
seemed  to  think  it  a  perfectly  good  reason,  too.  They  were 
certainly  young  enough  to  have  many  sweethearts. 

In  spite  of  the  tragedy  the  wreckage  of  the  afternoon 
pushes  in  on  an  observer's  soul;  I'm  just  waiting  for  the 
chap  who  tries  to  tell  me  that  human  nature  is  funda- 
mentally a  sad  mess  and  can  never  be  relied  on  to  get  us 
anywhere,  even  under  the  best  of  circumstances!  For  I 
am  surer  than  ever  that  they  are  right  who  claim  that  a 
"man  may  be  down  but  never  out."  And  I'll  wager,  too, 


226        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

that  this  inborn  and  never-dying  desire  to  get  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  the  zero  of  personal  uselessness  and  insignificance 
is  deeper  down  in  us  than  even  Professor  Parker's  instincts 
of  workmanship,  possession  or  acquisition,  parenthood,  curi- 
osity, and  all  the  ten  or  a  dozen  other  she  names.  These 
seem  to  me  merely  the  most  common  and  best-recognized— 
the  most  tangible  and  acknowledged — ways  in  which  a 
man  can  show  himself  a  do-er  and  a  be-er,  and  therefore 
entitled  to  the  respect  of  himself  and  other  do-ers  and 
be-ers.  And  from  listening  to  a  lot  of  these  men  in  the 
last  few  months  I'm  more  certain  than  ever  that  a  consid- 
erable part  of  their  vices,  especially  their  drinking,  is  be- 
cause at  those  tunes  they  hear  such  assurances  of  their  un- 
diminished,  individual  manliness  and  value  as  they  would 
so  gladly,  gladly  hear  when  sober  and  decent  and  on  the 
job,  but — sad,  sad,  to  relate — cannot. 

I  wonder  if  the  hearing  of  it  is  so  indispensable  to  being 
a  man  and  keeping  going  that  it  is  better  for  a  man  to  hear 
it  then  than  not  at  all.  I  wonder. 

Northwesterly, 
July  31. 

In  luck  again!  On  the  job!  To-morrow  at  eight  it's 
ship-building  again.  And  instead  of  being  a  reamer's 
helper,  I  am  to  be  the  reamer  himself — at  fifty-eight  cents 
per  for  an  eight-hour  day. 

In  the  employment  office  a  young  chap  of  twenty-three 
spoke  enthusiastically  of  his  doings  and  responsibilities,  es- 
pecially his  earnings,  on  twenty  submarines  under  a  ship- 
fitting  contractor  at .  Since  then: 

"When  I  left  there  last  fall  I  had  over  $400.  Now— well, 
I've  seen  the  country  all  right,  but  I'm  sure  busted.  Down 
South  I  had  a  good  job,  too — good  money  and  overtime 
almost  every  night  till  ten  o'clock.  I'd  'a'  done  that  regular 
but  they  only  put  on  one  street-car  and  a  few  trucks,  and 
by  the  time  you  got  into  town  and  to  bed  you  was  tired, 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  227 

and  it  was  midnight.  To  get  up  again  at  six  to  be  out  to 
the  plant  by  eight  was  too  hard.  So  I  blew,  and  I  been 
about  every  place  y'  ever  heard  of  since." 

Later  this  evening  he  was  at  those  private  employment 
agencies  looking  at  the  mining  jobs,  because  "They  didn't 
have  my  kind  of  work  for  me  there  at  the  yard."  I  sure 
hope  he  won't  become  one  of  those  homeless  wrecks. 

The  doctor  hi  a  clean-looking  hospital  wrote  down  all 
the  "noes"  of  my  family  health  history  much  faster  than 
I  could  say  them  myself !  In  short  order  he  put  on  my  card 
the  usual  "Class  A,"  which  hi  turn  got  me  my  "All  right. 
Be  at  the  gate  at  seven-fifty  to-morrow" — from  the  kindly, 
likable,  and  jolly  employment  clerk.  (I  wish  there  were 
more  like  him.) 

It  seems  like  old  times  to  be  setting  the  alarm-clock 
again — though  eight  o'clock  seems  a  luxurious  hour  for  the 
start  on  the  job. 

Northwesterly, 
August  1. 

Few  managers  seem  to  realize  how  a  worker  figures — and 
begrudges — the  minutes  or  hours  he  uses  to  go  and  come. 
Besides  frequently  causing  the  "passing  up"  of  the  distant 
job,  it  looks  as  though  all  those  minutes — like  all  the  drops 
of  sweat — figure  sooner  or  later  in  the  worker's  bill  against 
his  employer,  and  so  in  the  cost  of  production,  and,  finally, 
of  living,  for  everybody  to  pay. 

When,  after  a  fifteen-minutes'  ride  down-town,  I  got  on 
the  shipyards'  car,  I  found  it  crowded,  with  many  sitting 
on  the  floor.  Quite  a  number  were  sleeping.  It  was  an- 
other forty-five  minutes  before  we  got  off  for  a  few  minutes' 
walk  to  the  gate.  Strangely  enough,  the  train  was  no  faster 
when  I  took  it  to  come  in  this  evening,  "because  the  con- 
ductor can't  take  up  the  tickets  any  faster,"  my  seat-mate 
said.  So  all  together  I  put  in  eight  hours  at  work  and  two 
more  getting  on  the  job  and  off  of  it. 


228        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

At  the  plant  it  took  a  full  hour  and  a  half  or  more  to  an- 
swer to  my  alias,  join  the  reamers  at  the  proper  gate-house, 
get  badges  and  tool-checks,  follow  the  leader  into  the  yard, 
find  the  reamer-foreman  in  one  of  the  hulls  or  shells,  get 
the  proper  machine  and  air-hose,  etc.,  etc.  A  stocky,  black- 
browed,  and  bristly  Italian,  with  a  piggy  expression  written 
all  over  him  in  spite  of  his  brown  trousers  and  shirt  and 
lavender  suspenders,  was  my  buddy.  He  said  he  had  been 
making  fifty  a  week  in  an  eastern  yard,  but  had  to  leave  to 
avoid  trouble.  He  bluffed  better  than  I  but  did  not  know 
very  much  more  about  a  reamer.  We  went  very  hard  at 
reaming  out  the  holes  for  the  rivets  in  some  pretty  nasty 
places  on  the  keel,  that  was  barely  laid,  got  almost  no  atten- 
tion from  the  foreman,  and  broke  several  drills.  When  the 
noon  whistle  blew  I  was  greatly  surprised.  He  whispered: 
"We  no  work  so  -  -  hard  this  afternoon." 

But  after  we  had  moved  up  with  a  long,  slow  line  to  a 
hearty  and  well-cooked  dinner  for  thirty-five  cents  in  the 
company  restaurant,  and  had  a  cigarette,  we  went  at  it 
harder  than  ever.  It  was  actually  an  Alphonse  and  Gaston 
affair.  He  would  take  the  machine  out  of  my  hands  ahead 
of  his  turn  except  that  I  insisted  that  it  was  my  series  of 
holes  to  ream.  And  all  this  time  our  foreman  was  seldom 
if  ever  in  sight. 

The  flat  reaming-machines  are  very  hard  to  hold  even 
when  quiet,  but  they  buck  like  a  bronco  when  the  air  is 
turned  on.  Some  attention  could  surely  produce  a  design 
enormously  easier  to  handle.  The  drill  kept  coming  out 
and  held  us  up  badly — we  would  have  raised  Cain  about 
it  if  we  had  been  working  piece-work.  I  notice  again  that 
fatigue  grows  fastest  when  you  work  hard  and  accomplish 
little.  So  that  the  foreman  could  save  us  some  fatigue 
and  the  company  much  money  by  making  sure  that  we  get 
good  tools.  My  tuition  fees  for  learning  how  to  handle  the 
beast  are  in  the  shape  of  several  welts  across  the  arm  where 


fcs 

cS  o 


W    .£ 

*    c 


t  i. 

f1 

2 

«2  ~ 
~  = 
«  I 

"  w 

P  C 
H  U 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  229 

the  machine's  long  handle  caught  it — once  almost  to  the 
point  of  breaking  the  bone.  But  there  is  a  feeling  of  pleasure 
in  controlling  such  unmistakable  power  and  making  it  do 
your  will — except,  as  I  say,  when  imperfect  tools  lessen  the 
effectiveness  of  your  effort.  Bad  tools  that  get  no  attention 
cause  a  lessening  of  the  worker's  respect  for  the  manage- 
ment, which  in  turn  gives  a  big  push  downward  to  the  whole 
morale. 

Well,  I've  done  a  good  day's  work  and  enjoyed  it.  I  have 
no  grouch  on  any  boss  because  all  of  them  I  could  see  had 
a  good  look  in  their  eye — with,  possibly,  one  exception. 

A  machinist  very  kindly  gave  me  the  advantage  of  his 
commutation  ticket  on  the  train  in,  and  mentioned  his  pleas- 
ure in  the  company.  Of  work  in  steel  he  thought  little: 

"  No  good.  Too  long  hours.  It  takes  a  lotta  guts  to  ask 
human  bein's  to  work  twelve  and  fourteen  hours  reg'lar." 

He  gets  eighty  cents  an  hour  for  eight  hours  and  thinks 
highly  of  it. 

As  I  think  now  how  soon  I  must  go  to  bed  to  rest  my 
arms  and  back  in  time  to  get  up  at  six,  spend  the  hour  on 
the  way  and  have  enough  pep  to  stand  my  turn  in  taming 
that  bucking  reamer,  it  looks  as  though  an  eight-hour- 
inside-the-gates  day  is  none  too  short. 

Northwesterly, 
August  2. 

There's  a  lot  of  satisfaction  in  a  good  tired  feeling  honestly 
and  constructively  earned — and  it's  mine  to-night. 

That  old  reaming-machine  has  been  on  its  noisy,  jumpy, 
put-putty  go  almost  every  minute  of  the  eight  hours — with 
the  Italian  Luigi  and  me  Alphonse-and-Gaston-ing  to  make 
sure  we  didn't  loaf  on  each  other,  and  he  did  his  full  share, 
even  though  one  of  the  foremen  whispered  me  to  "  Watch 
out  for  him — he's  layin'  down  on  you." 

The  work  was  about  as  yesterday,  except  that  we  didn't 
break  so  many  drills  and  kept  'em  in  the  machine  better, 


230        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

and  in  general  felt  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  our  efforts  count. 
Perhaps,  too,  we  were  helped  by  the  demonstration  of  the 
usefulness  of  our  work  given  us  by  the  launching  of  one  of 
the  big  hulls.  It  was  inspiring  to  stand  with  the  crowd  of 
workers  and  their  wives,  children,  and  sweethearts  and 
watch  and  listen  to  the  team-work  as  the  gang  of  maulers 
alternately  attacked  the  supports  on  the  water  side  or  rested 
as  though  under  an  orchestra  conductor — till  finally  the 
boat  slid  off  into  the  water  and  the  big  wave  wet  all  the 
careless  bystanders.  (They  tell  of  a  riveter  who  wondered 
if  the  minister  would  be  careful  with  the  bottle  when  he 
christened  his  baby !  It  is  also  said  that  the  champagne's 
preciousness  is  what  fits  it  to  serve  on  such  an  occasion  as 
this  christening  which  continues  the  form  and  the  spirit 
of  the  ancient  blood-sacrifice.)  Who  officiated  at  the 
bottle-breaking  and  why  the  cranes  and  engines  didn't 
make  more  fuss,  I  don't  know,  but  I'm  sure  more  noise 
would  have  helped  make  it  more  impressive.  (A  deaf  writer 
claims  that  our  feelings  are  more  easily  stirred  through  our 
ears  than  our  eyes.  Of  course  everybody  knows  that  every 
parade  without  a  band  is  a  frost.) 

The  first  day  on  the  job  you  keep  everlastingly  on  your 
toes  in  a  way  which  tires  the  spirit;  you  wonder  what's 
going  to  happen  to  you,  how  the  boss  is  going  to  handle  you, 
what  kind  of  a  company  you've  broken  into,  etc.  You  re- 
member what  happens  then — good  or  bad — longer  than 
the  happenings  of  any  other  day,  except,  perhaps,  the  day 
you  get  promoted.  The  second  day  you  enjoy  more — if 
you  were  handled  right  the  first  day — partly  because  you 
aren't  on  your  spirit's  toes  so  much,  and  partly  because  you 
feel  acquainted  with  your  buddies.  To-day  when  Luigi 
was  taking  his  turn  I  cultivated  several  interesting  chaps. 

"I  guess  you're  new  at  laborin',  ain'tcha?"  I  said  to  one 
bright-eyed  man  with  the  face  of  a  minister,  who  didn't 
know  what  rate  he  was  getting  with  his  welding-torch. 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  231 

"Well,"  he  said,  "my  brother's  got  me  in  here,  and  he's 
taking  care  of  such  things.  He  knows  better  than  I,  too, 
why  I  joined  the  union  last  night.  .  .  .  But  anyway,  it's 
better  than  farming — at  least  when  you  have  as  bad  luck 
as  I  did." 

A  near-by  Swedish-American  seemed  happy  to  be  earn- 
ing sometimes  as  high  as  fifty-five  dollars  a  week  at  bolting- 
up,  while  keeping  his  living  expenses  for  his  family  of  three 
down  to  fifteen  dollars — rent  included.  He  wants  now  to 
buy  a  house,  having  sold  his  recently.  He,  too,  had  not 
succeeded  at  farming.  His  memories  of  several  years  in 
lumber-camps  seem  mostly  of  hunger. 

A  calker  of  the  huskiest  and  sturdiest  variety  boasted  to 
some  friends  this  noon: 

"I've  earned  as  high  as  $27  here,  and  my  average  for  a 
year  has  been  $12  a  day — piece  rate,  of  course.  And  in  the 
year  I  added  $3,000  to  what  I  had.  .  .  .  Naw,  I  ain't 
goin'  to  'buy  no  store,  mebbe?'  I'm  goin'  to  work  a  few 
more  years  and  then  quit.  No  more  work  for  mine  then." 

"This  place  is  no  good!"  A  rivet-heater  up  on  the 
crowded  deck  of  the  newly  launched  hull  started  in  on  me 
though  I'd  never  seen  him  before.  "Too  all-fired  many 
crews.  You'll  do  300  by  noon  and  then  not  get  75  after, 
because  another  crew's  comin'  your  way.  An'  every  second 
man  you  meet  is  a  foreman — he  has.  to  boss  and  he  has  to 
'get  his.'  No  wonder  they  say  fifty  men  leave  every  day. 
One  week's  enough  for  me.  Why,  they  ain't  hardly  any- 
body here  now  that  was  here  a  year  ago,  when  I  left.  I'll 
hold  out  till  Saturday,  and  then  it's  back  to  -  -  for  mine." 

Everybody  else  seems  to  be  happy  and  to  believe  in  the 
company.  On  our  keel  especially  everybody  seems  to 
smile.  Even  though  the  noise  permitted  no  exchange  of 
ideas — unless  you  wanted  to  yell  hard — sentiments  went 
from  one  to  the  other;  and  these  were  valuable  for  the  com- 
pany, too.  One  gray-haired  ship-fitter  shouted  something 


232        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

at  me;  I  couldn't  catch  it,  but  I  noticed  I  smiled  for  an  hour 
because  I  did  catch  the  good-will  and  good  humor  of  his 
mood. 

When  I  took  back  my  hose  and  turned  in  my  badge  and 
tool-checks  to  quit,  I  was  asked  no  questions.  My  address 
was  taken  very  politely  and  the  forwarding  of  my  pay 
promised.  (Haven't  yet  got  that  money  from  the  railway 
roundhouse  because  it  was  refused  my  messenger,  and  I've 
not  been  able  to  follow  directions  to  call  for  it.) 

On  the  car  back  to  town  my  seat-mate  was  full  of  his 
day's  ending: 

"My  God!  My  buddy's  just  been  killed — in  the  last 
hour.  The  rivet-tosser  come  runnin'  up  yellin'  'He's 
dead  hi  there!  He's  dead!'  .  .  .  And  there  he  was  just 
inside  the  deck-house  o'  that  boat  launched  to-day — with 
his  hands  on  his  chest  clutchin'  the  little  electric-light  wire 
that  had  electrocuted  him.  .  .  .  No,  the  pulmotor  couldn't 
help  him,  the  doctor  said." 

The  lad  had  been  a  stranger  till  assigned  to  him  that 
afternoon,  so  he  soon  got  to  talking  of  other  things: 

"Yes,  he's  a  good  foreman  and  I'll  say  he's  been  square 
to  me — suggestin'  one  boost  after  another  till  now  I'm 
drivin'  'em  in  (riveting)  for  my  eighty  cents  an  hour  or,  if 
I  get  piece-work,  my  little  fifteen  dollars  per.  .  .  .  Oh, 
I'll  say  that  hammer  makes  me  deaf  as  a  bat  every  once  in 
a  while.  And  when  I'm  workin'  inside  and  somebody  up 
above  on  deck  hits  his  drift-pin  or  the  sheet  a  wallop- 
Say!  Ain't  it  awful!" 

Macheenia, 
August  20. 

After  twenty-four  hours  here  the  prospect  looks  bad  for 
any  work  in  steel. 

Yesterday  morning  the  papers  bore  large  notices  that  the 
Blank  Company  wanted  "Drill-Press  hands,  etc.,"  and 


IN  THE  IRON-MINES  233 

could  offer  as  inducements  "Good  wages,  ideal  factory,  no 
labor  trouble." 

Inquiry  of  a  group  of  men  near  the  gates  indicated,  how- 
ever, that  the  company  had  assumed  too  much  in  promising 
the  last-named  advantage.  The  tool-room  men  had  struck 
and  were  reporting  good  progress  in  calling  out  other 
groups,  one  by  one.  "Why,  it's  a  cinch;  they  can't  run 
without  us,  and  when  the  boys  in  the  assembly  department 
come  out  to-night,  the  big  fellows  will  see  that  they're  up 
against  it."  The  pickets  are  taking  their  work  seriously 
and  seem  to  have  good  organization.  The  chief  station  is 
in  front  of  a  saloon  where  many  lounge  to  absorb  the  latest 
news  and,  one  or  two  of  them,  more  beer  than  is  good  for 
them. 

No  one  seems  to  have  any  definite  idea  of  the  cause  of 
the  trouble.  "Ask  the  committee;  they're  to  make  the 
demands,"  the  rank  and  file  make  alibi.  But  the  com- 
mittee members  appear  to  know  little  more  about  it  than 
their  companions.  "Our  wages  should  be  higher,  because 
living  is  higher,"  but  how  much  higher  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  given  much  thought  by  any  of  them.  Working 
conditions  and  the  foremen  the  group  reports  as  satisfac- 
tory. Altogether,  it  appears  only  a  matter  of  the  wounded 
feelings  of  the  leaders. 

"You  see,  we  was  elected  by  all  the  men  in  the  tool-room, 
union  and  non-union,  to  represent  'em  to  the  superintendent. 
We  was  given  power  to  straighten  out  all  the  tangles. 
Well,  we  been  wranglin'  and  wranglin'  for  two  weeks,  and 
now  the  management  refuses  to  recognize  us  now  or  for 
the  future.  So  we  called  the  boys  out." 

The  boys  have  evidently  stood  by  and  obeyed  the  call 
loyally.  It  is  hard  not  to  believe  that  some  company 
official  has  either  not  suspected  the  seriousness  of  the  atti- 
tude of  his  chief  workers  or  else  has  lost  his  temper  in  a 


234        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

way  that  has  turned  them  all  hard  against  him.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  certainly  hard  for  an  outsider  to  see  any  more 
valid  reason  for  the  difficulty  than  mishandling  or  bungling 
somewhere. 

It's  plain,  though,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  most  strikes, 
the  original  factors  of  the  matter  are  being  fast  forgotten 
in  the  present  acute  stage.  As  the  time  dragged  on  through 
an  afternoon  which  most  of  them  would  have  found  fairly 
short  inside  the  plant,  the  tone  and  manner  in  which  the 
company  was  mentioned  grew  less  and  less  respectful  and 
decent — more  and  more  bitter.  Motor-men  and  conductors 
dropped  off  from  the  cars  and  joined  their  remarks  to  the 
others  regarding  the  unspeakable  selfishness  and  unlimited 
greed  of  all  capitalists  and  employers  as  causing  all  the  evils 
of  these  costly  times.  The  unsoundness  of  the  reasoning, 
and  the  wide  inaccuracy  of  the  facts  passed  out  in  explana- 
tion of  matters  economic  and  industrial,  made  a  sad  com- 
mentary on  our  educational  and  publicity  arrangements. 
It  should  be  added,  however,  that  outside  the  street-car 
men,  most  of  the  talking  was  done  by  one  who,  in  recount- 
ing his  different  attempts  to  earn  a  living,  was  very  frank 
to  say  that  this  and  that  plan  had  gone  awry  because  "  Well, 
I  guess  I  like  my  beer  too  much."  Not  that  he  was  any- 
thing but  jaunty  about  it.  "Hell,  it's  as  easy  as  pie  to 
earn  a  living — if  not  there  in  the  plant,  then  in  some  other 
way  where  those  hogs  can't  boss  us." 

"I  hain't  no  great  kick  at  anything — I've  been  there  ten 
years  and  I'm  not  a  member  of  the  union,"  whispered  one 
of  the  most  thoughtful.  "They  do  say  that  some  of  the 
boys  in  other  shops  are  getting  more  than  we  are — and  I 
know  I  don't  want  to  hog  anything  off  of  anybody.  But 
the  boys  on  the  committee  are  a  good  bunch,  and  I'm  for 
givin'  them  a  chance  to  show  what  they  can  do." 

The  chances  are  that  in  a  few  days  even  he  will  be  keep- 
ing up  with  the  crowd  by  joining  in  with  the  unthinking 


IN  THE   IRON-MINES  235 

and  bitter  mud-slinging  of  the  rest — especially  when  the 
gallant  optimism  of  the  leaders  comes  to  meet  the  stern 
test  of  the  silence  of  the  management.  Without  the  slight- 
est doubt,  too,  such  a  man  as  he  will  never  be  worth  to  the 
company  as  much  as  he  was  before.  Whatever  the  out- 
come of  the  effort,  his  attitude  toward  his  employers  will 
never  again  be  as  friendly  as  it  has  been  during  his  ten 
years  to  date.  Sometimes  I  imagine — as  when  troubles  are 
of  long  standing  and  as  much  in  the  way  as  a  sore  thumb— 
a  good  scrap  may  clear  the  air,  but  this  one  seems  needless. 

Doubtless  it  is  hard  for  the  management  to  imagine 
properly  in  advance  the  blitheness  with  which  such  a  group 
expects  to  bring  the  company  to  its  knees. 

"No,  we  ain't  heard  nothin'  from  'em  yet,"  one  of  the 
leaders  assured  a  questioning  follower  who  had  evidently 
found  his  uneventful  picketing  a  long,  long  turn.  "But 
to-morrow — that's  Friday — I  expect  a  lot  more  o'  the  boys 
out  from  the  other  departments,  and  I  give  'em  till  Saturday. 
Yessir,  before  Saturday  noon  the  big  fellows'll  be  sendin' 
for  us — that's  at  the  latest,  y'  understand." 

That  was  yesterday.  This  morning  the  crowd  at  the 
gates — or,  rather,  across  the  street  from  them — was  larger, 
but  from  inside  came  the  sound  of  a  busy  factory.  I  got  per- 
mission from  them  to  go  into  the  employment  office  to  ask 
about  work  in  a  department  not  yet  on  strike,  promising 
"the  boys"  to  come  out  on  strike  with  them  if  the  rest  de- 
cided to  come.  The  employment  clerk  said:  "We  don't 
know  ourselves  what  it's  all  about.  Guess  they'll  be  back 
before  long.  If  you'll  turn  up  Monday  we'll  have  some- 
thing for  you." 

When  I  reported  to  the  group,  it  appeared  too  much  like 
trying  to  crab — or  "scab" — their  game,  so  I  guess  I  won't 
try  it.  I'm  sorry.  It  looked  like  a  good  shop,  though  the 
noise  in  the  office  is  fearful. 

The  State  employment  bureau  seems  not  to  have  the 


236       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

co-operation  of  some  of  the  larger  steel  companies,  so  I  had 
to  ask  the  corner  policeman  to  help  start  off  for  their  gates. 

"We're  still  hand-loadin'  our  furnace  and  it's  all  we  can 
do  to  get  the  foreigners  to  stay  on  it — even  the  drunken  ones 
— and  I  don't  blame  'em  at  that.  I'll  say  it's  mighty  hard, 
dirty  work.  Come  around  when  we  get  our  new  machinery 
in,"  was  the  surprising  way  hi  which  the  superintendent  of 
a  blast-furnace  turned  me  down. 

The  last  man  of  the  day's  searchings  I  have  just  come 
from — and  my  temperature  is  still  near  the  boiling-point. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  observe  that  the  big  steel-plant  looked 
clean,  with  grass  in  evidence,  safety  appeals  in  all  places, 
dinkies  busy,  and  stacks  smoking  enough  to  indicate  that 
business  was  keeping  as  many,  say,  as  2,000  men  busy. 

The  face  of  the  man  with  his  feet  on  the  desk  in  the 
gate-shanty  had  all  the  marks  of  the  plant  policeman, 
though  he  wore  no  uniform.  It  was  small  but  florid  and 
stern,  pierced  by  two  small,  steel-blue  eyes,  and  topped  by 
a  heavy  shock  of  steel-gray  hair.  I  asked  about  the 
"chances  for  a  man's  gettin'  on  here  to-day,  huh?" 

"Nothin'  doin',"  he  vouchsafed  without  looking  up  from 
his  paper — hi  a  steel-gray  voice  if  ever  I  heard  one. 

"Well,  what  about  Monday?    Any  chance,  sir?" 

"Can't  say" — sound  of  steel-gray  filings  and  business  of 
reading  the  paper. 

"Well,  is  the  plant  runnin'  pretty  full?"  This  in  the 
effort  to  see  if  he  was  just  absorbed  hi  the  news  item  and  a 
human  being  again  when  he  finished. 

"Guess  so" — still  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  still  less  human 
than  a  nice,  warm,  orange-red,  steel  ingot. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  turn  away — I  was  almost 
afraid  of  being  arrested,  or  at  least  "bawled  out,"  if  I  stood 
and  looked  at  him  while  trying  to  think  what  to  say  next, 
in  an  effort  to  convey  the  impression  that  a  job  was  of  some 
interest  to  me.  Then  from  a  safe  distance  I  called  back: 


IN   THE   IRON-MINES  237 

"Got  an  employment  department  here?" 

'"S  all  there  is,"  he  spat  out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth 
like  an  overchewed  tobacco  quid. 

How  can  such  a  man — if  he  is  a  man  and  not  one  of  the 
charging  machines  brought  down  from  the  " floor"  and  re- 
versed into  a  discharging  machine — how  can  such  a  man  fail 
to  realize  the  enormous  seriousness  of  a  job  to  the  man  who 
asks  for  it?  How  can  any  company  which  believes  in 
"safety  first"  for  its  men  be  so  careless  of  the  safety  of  it- 
self and  the  industrial  regime?  For  such  a  creature  makes 
a  real  man  want  to  enroll  with  the  upsetters  of  the  system 
which  puts  him  there  with  his  feet  on  the  table. 

Perhaps  my  radiator  is  a  little  too  hot  to  favor  proper 
working  at  this  moment  of  my  cerebral  cylinders,  but  I  will 
hazard  again  that  this  type  of  plant  guard,  together  with 
the  ordinary  type  of  secret-service  man  too  often  employed 
by  many  companies,  is  easily  accountable  for  a  reduction 
by  at  least  fifteen  per  cent  in  the  good-will  and  friendly  re- 
lations which  might  normally  be  expected  from  the  various 
arrangements  for  better  relations  made  common  in  the 
various  plants  during  the  past  few  years. 

I  don't  think  I  like  this  town,  so  I  guess  I'll  move  into 
what  the  steel  men  call  the  Calumet  District. 

P.  S. — On  the  tram  a  brakie  seemed  to  think  that  only 
by  a  strike  could  people  be  made  to  realize  how  "this  coun- 
try can't  get  along  without  us  railroad  guys.  Why,  where 

in  h 'ud  they  be,  huh?"  Which  makes  an  ordinary 

patron  wonder  whether  some  of  these  strikes  aren't  more  to 
obtain  from  a  thoughtless  and  unappreciative  public  a 
larger  personal  or  group  recognition  and  appreciation  of 
services  rendered  than  to  get  more  wages,  or  even  more 
union  authority  and  prestige. 


CHAPTER  X 

AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN 

Calumetta, 
August  25. 

From  the  Northwestern  ranges  it  is,  of  course,  easy  to  fol- 
low the  great  ore  barges  to  the  points  where  coal  and  ore  find 
it  convenient  to  meet.  Within  the  last  few  years  the  district 
at  the  lower  end  of  Lake  Michigan  has  developed  with 
amazing  speed  into  a  steel  centre  of  huge  proportions. 
It  offered  new  and  interesting  territory  for  study. 

Was  all  ready  for  the  day's  work  this  morning  shortly 
after  five.  But  after  walking  over  a  plant  which  should  be 
famous  for  its  magnificent  distances,  I  was  told  to  report  at 
five-thirty  for  my  old  friend  the  twelve-hour  shift.  A  real 
working  man  probably  wouldn't  bother  to  take  more  than 
an  hour  or  so  of  sleep  in  advance  preparation  for  anything, 
so  I'll  follow  suit  and  hope  that  my  new  straw-boss  will  be 
as  anxious  to  find  an  hour  or  two  of  slumber  for  himself 
on  the  job  to-night  as  my  previous  bosses  on  the  long 
shifts  have  been. 

At  the  employment  office  Saturday  they  asked  a  question 
or  two,  gave  me  a  card  marked  " Labor  or  better,"  and  in- 
structions to  "Be  around  Monday  morning  between  six 
and  seven."  Evidently  they  are  unwilling  to  sign  a  man 
up  till  he  is  ready  to  go  right  onto  the  job.  This  morning 
the  basement  room  was  filled  and  overflowing  with  a  few 
of  us  white  and  many  black  Americans,  many  Mexicans  hi 
overalls  and  sombreros,  and  others  who  had  shown  their 
slips  to  the  policeman — yes,  he  was  about  as  officious  as 
usual — and  been  given  their  places  in  the  procession  up  to 
the  window.  It  moved  very  slowly  and  at  its  end  brought 
many  disappointments. 

238 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN     239 

"How  old  are  you?"  the  employing  clerk  would  shout. 
"How  old?  .  .  .  Well,  you'll  have  to  get  a  birth-certificate 
before  you  can  get  a  job  here." 

Or, 

"Sign  here.  Can't  write?  Well,  how  do  you  spell  it? 
Slow,  now!  P-r-z-1-m.  .  .  .  That  right?  All  right,  go 
with  that  man  to  the  north  gate." 

In  between  our  semi-occasional  moves  the  policeman 
would  take  the  holders  of  certain  slips — evidently  former 
employees — up  to  the  window  ahead  of  the  line,  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  many  subdued  growls. 

Finally  my  companion  and  I  got  to  the  window;  he  to  be 
told,  "No,  that  church  birth-certificate  won't  do — get  a 

real  one  from  the  court";  and  I  to  be  directed  to  the 

gate  with  my  pass. 

When  my  department  head  was  finally  found  after  long 
trudgings  and  many  inquiries,  he  was  non-committal  as  to 
the  kind  of  work,  but  very  definite  in  his  orders  that  I  be 
on  hand  a  good  half -hour  before  the  whistle  starts  the  night- 
shift. 

Walking  past  a  group  of  loaders,  with  my  package  of 
overalls  under  my  arm,  one  of  them  called  out,  "No  got 
job?"  and  grunted  his  approval  when  I  answered:  "To- 
night." 

And  to-night  it  is.  I'll  be  happy  to  be  part  of  the  gor- 
geous spectacle  of  flame  and  shadow,  white  clouds  and  black 
roofs  and  stacks,  which  the  roaring  Bessemer  converters 
blow  upon  the  sky  to  be  enjoyed  in  the  park  where  I  loafed 
last  night.  And  while  my  eyes  enjoyed  the  picture  for  its 
dazzling  wealth  of  blaze  and  smoke  and  steam,  a  couple  of 
bench  companions  interpreted  it  in  the  terms  that  inter- 
ested them — those  of  flesh  and  blood: 

"Yes,"  said  an  American  of  apparently  good  education, 
"it's  us  clerks  who  are  not  getting  what  we  should  out  of 
all  that  there.  Why,  just  a  few  days  ago  one  of  the  boys 


240       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

said  to  the  office  manager:  'Well,  I'm  quitting  the  stool  for 
good;  I've  figured  it  out  that  instead  of  my  $150  here  I'll 
make  $200  outside  there  on  the  coke-ovens.'  And  he's 
right  at  that." 

"Me  been  with "  (a  near-by  company)  "eight  years- 
one  same  job  since  come  dees  country.  Get  43  ^  cents 
hour,  and  now  have  eight-hour  sheeft — with  ten  hours  pay. 
Pay  $40  mont'  board  and  room:  alia  time  stew  for  eat — 
alia  time  stew — no  good.  .  .  .  Sure  we  all  join  union — 
must  get  more  money  or  go  back  to  ten — twelve  hours." 

He  seemed  a  fine  type  of  the  Polish  worker — strong, 
well-shaven,  intelligent-looking.  His  family  of  five  is  still 
in  Poland — "on  a  farm — good  buildings — everything — yes, 
all  right  now.  During  war  me  get  good  money  but  no  can 
send  not'ing.  Just  now  send  me  'em  $2,000." 

Yes,  I'll  be  glad  to  be  part  of  the  picture — but  gladder  to 
get  closer  to  the  other  men  who  have  been  part  of  it  for 
years.  A  lot  of  them,  probably,  have  never  thought  of  it  as 
a  picture  at  all  but,  at  that,  I  guess  their  view  of  it  as  bread 
and  butter  for  themselves  and  their  wives  and  youngsters 
here  or  "back  in  old  countree"  comes  closer  to  the  heart 
of  the  matter  than  the  "Ah's"  and  "Oh's"  of  us  sight- 
seers there  on  the  park  bench. 

Here  goes  for  a  short  snooze  and  then  into  the  greasy  bro- 
gans,  wool  socks,  and  all  the  plant  fixin's. 

Calumetta, 
August  26. 

Like  the  first  twenty  years  at  golf,  it's  the  first  half  of 
the  twelve-hour  shift  that's  the  hardest.  It  looked  last 
night  as  though  midnight  had  forgot  to  come.  When  I 
guessed  it  was  eleven,  my  fellow  "hooker"  laughed  and 
showed  me  it  was  nine !  After  supper  in  the  plant  restau- 
rant when  the  whistle  finally  blew,  I  lost  a  good  hour  of  sleep 
by  searching  for  my  boss  and  buddies:  I  found  them  at 
last  in  a  dark  shanty  fast  asleep — and  joined  them  without 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN     241 

further  delay !  When,  an  hour  later,  we  started  to  work  again 
it  seemed  bearable  to  think  of  sticking  at  it  till  the  end. 

The  work  itself  is  not  very  bad — hooking  the  chains 
around  the  piles  of  billets  so  the  crane-man  can  lift  them 
off  the  iron  trucks  which  bring  them  from  the  blooming 
mill,  or  else  guide  them  into  the  pickling-vat,  etc.  When 
the  billets — they  weigh  from  a  few  hundred  pounds  up  to 
several  tons — are  red  hot  it  is  warm  business,  and  prospects 
are  good  for  my  getting  a  fine  collection  of  burns  unless  I 
can  learn  that  all  steel  is  not  cold  that  looks  it.  At  all 
times  the  work  is  dangerous,  especially  while  fastening  the 
chains  to  the  tongs  which  lift  out  the  separate  billets  to  be 
drilled  for  testing — all  the  steel  at  this  "dock"  is  said  to  be 
special,  for  tools,  etc.  A  finger  in  the  wrong  place  or  a 
glove  caught  suddenly  seems  to  mean  nothing  to  the  ten- 
ton  crane,  as  many  of  my  friends  appear  unfortunately 
able  to  testify. 

Our  boss,  Tom,  seems  a  friendly  sort,  just  lately  pro- 
moted to  his  new  responsibilities  but  evidently  not  afraid 
of  them,  seeing  how  regularly  he  goes  to  sleep  in  their  pres- 
ence. But  he  is  jolly  with  us  and  does  seem  anxious  to  get 
through  with  all  the  stuff  that  has  to  be  handled  before 
daybreak.  And  the  men — there  are  four  of  us  under  him — 
seem  to  like  him.  So  the  outlook  is  not  bad.  The  crane- 
man  under  him  seems  to  know  the  job  better  than  he,  but 
"is  too  temperamental  for  big  responsibilities,"  according 
to  a  friendly  clerk: 

"Mike's  been  here  on  the  billet-dock  over  ten  years,  and 
he'd  be  a  boss  if  he'd  let  booze  alone — and  wouldn't  be 
quite  so  fast  and  furious  with  his  crane.  Yes,  he  sure  is  a 
terrier  with  those  tongs  when  he's  not  on  the  crane!" 

Everybody  has  a  good  word,  too,  for  the  assistant  head 
of  our  department,  Louis.  He  got  a  young  Pole  to  give 
me  a  share  of  his  locker,  and  told  me  to  go  into  the  office 
to  eat  my  dinner — and  generally  to  take  liberties  not  given, 


242        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

as  he  puts  it,  "to  any  but  white  men,"  and  to  hope  for  an 
early  raise  from  the  gang.  The  Pole  proceeded  to  loan  me 
a  dirty  shirt  so  I  could  save  my  clean  one.  In  general, 
everybody  gave  me  a  friendly  go.  So  I'll  do  my  best  to 
get  close  to  them  and  the  job  and  the  twelve-hour  shift — • 
and  hope  not  to  lose  an  hour's  sleep  again  by  not  knowing 
the  ropes. 

Calumetta, 
August  27. 

The  possibility  of  the  great  steel  strike  is  on  everybody's 
mind.  Apparently  every  word  about  it  in  the  newspapers 
is  diligently  read — for  rehashing  during  the  night  with 
many  comments. 

"Aw,  them  guys  think  we've  worked  their  old  twelve 
and  fourteen  hours  so  long  that  we'll  stand  for  anything," 
says  the  Polish  crane-boy.  "We'll  show  'em  pretty  soon !" 

"But  I  don't  believe  we  go  out,"  confides  a  young  Polish 
"hookei "  working  along  with  me.  "They  ask  for  seventy- 
five  cents  hour — no  company  give  dat,  and  not  many  work- 
in'  mans  believes  dey  give  it.  I  tink  dey  no  go  out — no 
difference  if  dey  do  vote  ninety-eight  per  cent  strike." 

"Why  shouldn't  the  company  give  us  the  eight-hour  day 
without  makin'  anybody  strike  for  it?"  says  the  heater, 
happening  by  from  the  soaking-pits.  "I'd  be  glad  to  let 
it  cost  me  three  or  four  dollars  a  day."  (A  door-boy  work- 
ing on  the  same  hot  floor  with  him,  says  the  man  works 
eleven  hours  days,  and  thirteen  hours  nights,  every  other 
week,  and  earns  about  $400  a  month,  wages  and  tonnage.) 

"What  we  earn  is  all  right  but  it's  these  fellows  that  take 
it  away  from  us ! — the  grocers,  the  meat-man,  and  all," 
complains  an  old  oiler.  "Why,  you  never  get  no  change 
from  a  dollar  bill  any  more.  Stone  of  the  engineers  's  a 
big  man,  and  he's  right — let's  try  to  cut  the  cost  o'  livin' 
first." 

"Well,  count  me  in,  uncle,  for  a  six-day  week  like  a  civi- 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    243 

lized  man,"  says  an  engineer  of  thirty  years'  service.  "This 
work  fourteen  hours  nights  every  day  in  the  long-shift 
week  is  plain  hell,  and  we  oughta  stop  it — and  we  woulda 
long  ago,  if  the  bosses  hadn't  seen  some  profit  for  themselves 
to  keep  us  from  it." 

"Well,  mebbe  me  see  my  girl  every  day  when  eight-hour 
comes,"  smiled  another  Polish  hooker  who  had  earlier  con- 
fided how  he  maintained  friendly  relations  with  his  Polish- 
American  fiancee  by  spending  nearly  every  other  day  with 
her,  catching  up  his  sleep  on  the  odd  days. 

It  looks  to  me  as  though  three  main  factors  are  at  work 
for  such  discontent.  First,  the  war  has  made  everybody 
want  to  live  a  more  normal  life  than  the  long  shifts  permit. 
Secondly,  the  state  of  chronic  fatigue  caused  by  these  long 
shifts  enormously  complicates  the  relations  between  the 
worker  and  all  his  superiors  and  all  his  world,  in  fact,  in- 
clines him  to  be  fretful,  distrustful,  almost  malicious. 
Anybody  who  doesn't  believe  it,  should  "try  it  on  his  own 
Victrola!"  And  third,  the  present  constant  public  dinning 
of  the  H.  C.  L. — even  though  in  the  effort  to  reduce  it — 
makes  every  one  feel  poor. 

Let  no  one  cast  the  first  stone;  it  is  enough  to  try  the 
souls  of  the  sanest  men.  In  the  days  when  I  tried  to  inter- 
est the  rich  in  philanthropic  gifts  it  was  always  evident  that 
every  one  is  as  rich  as  he  feels;  his  actual  bank-book  figures 
have  little  to  do  with  it.  Russell  Sage  is  reported  to  have 
told  the  street  panhandler  who  asked  him  for  a  dime: 
"Why,  man,  I  have  a  million  dollars  in  the  bank  not  earn- 
ing a  cent — come  around  some  other  day  when  I'm  not  so 
worried!"  Even  if  the  constantly  ascending  costs  were  to 
be  brought  low  by  the  punishment  of  any  profiteers,  that 
makes  it  all  the  more  certain  that  somebody's  profits  have 
grown  abnormally  while  your  wages  have  either  stood  still 
or  shrunk,  or  at  least  grown  only  normally.  In  any  case  it 
all  makes  you  feel  poor.  And  when  added  to  by  chronic 


244       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

fatigue,  that  makes  you  feel  sore,  ready  to  call  for  an  ac- 
counting of  all  your  troubles. 

The  psychologist  James  talked  about  men  becoming  great 
because  instead  of  stopping  when  they're  tired  they  keep 
pushing  into  the  energetic  freshness  which,  he  claimed, 
lies  just  beyond  these  layers  of  weariness.  He  called  these 
layers  "fatigue  dams."  My  experience  of  the  last  few 
months  makes  me  think  he  is  right  in  the  case  of  the  man 
who  has  a  chance  to  "catch  up"  and  start  even  again  at 
occasional  intervals  or  is  kept  up  by  the  feeling  of  large 
achievement.  But  where  the  foreman  takes  for  himself 
most  of  the  feeling  of  achievement,  and  where  it  is  the  same 
round  for  weeks  and  months  of  "Yes,  sir,  eleven  hours  days 
and  thirteen  hours  nights  steady,  with  only  two  days  off  in 
two  years — not  exceptin'  Sundays  and  holidays,"  as  some 
of  my  buddies  have  boasted — then  I'm  sure  it's  a  "Fatigue 
Damn." 

I've  had  more  of  these  hi  their  acute  form  in  working 
hours  under  plant  roofs  than  ever  in  my  life  before.  They 
were  nasty  and  they  gummed  up  the  works  for  the  day's 
sane  thinking  about  everything,  especially  about  my  em- 
ployers— and  lots  of  well-meaning  employers  are  undoubt- 
edly having  their  motives  misunderstood  by  those  daily 
temporary  fatigue  dams.  (I  remember,  for  instance,  the 
white,  pinched  face  of  young  Giovanni  near  the  tired  end 
of  that  first  night  in  the  open-hearth  labor  gang  as  he 
stood  on  the  hot  bricks  of  the  down-take  and  told  the  boss 

he  could  "go  to  h ;  I'm  through" — and  many  others 

hi  the  same  mood.) 

But  the  big  trouble  comes  when  these  little  acute  emer- 
gency or  temporary  dams  become  chronic !  They  certainly 
do  wall  off  tired  men  into  different  compartments  from  rested 
ones!  Just  now  there  seems  at  least  a  fair  chance  that 
dynamite  may  be  put  to  work  in  the  country  before  they 
are  blown  up  and  away. 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    245 

These  feelings  are  not  lessened  by  the  talk  of  other  com- 
panies in  the  neighborhood  in  which  the  long  shifts  have 
been  abolished,  with,  usually,  nine,  ten,  or  eleven  hours' 
pay  given  for  eight  hours'  work — and  with  also,  I  believe, 
a  saving  to  the  company,  at  least  where  leaders  instead  of 
drivers  are  put  in  as  gang  bosses  and  foremen. 

But  possibly  I'm  suffering  myself  at  this  moment  from 
too  long  and  too  busy  nights.  We  were  kept  very  busy 
nearly  all  the  shift.  This  morning  I  dragged  the  long  way 
to  the  employment  office  to  ask  if  the  labor  job  they  men- 
tioned at  the  blast-furnace  was  still  open;  it  sounded  dirty 
but  interesting.  When  the  policeman  planted  himself  in 
front  of  me  and  asked  very  curtly  what  I  wanted,  I  found 
the  night's  work  had  made  me  very  touchy.  It  seemed  to 
me  it  was  not  his  business  to  say,  "Aw,  you  can't  get  no 
transfer,"  when  the  employment  clerk  in  charge  of  such 
matters  was  only  six  feet  away.  It  was  only  the  sight  of 
his  billy  that  kept  me  from  busting  a  dam  or  two  while  I 
walked  around  him. 

In  line  with  the  clerk's  direction,  I  walked  a  block  or 
two  to  find  the  blast-furnace  head.  "  He'll  be  here  hi  a 
minute,"  his  assistant  said.  After  a  half-hour  another  said: 
" He'll  be  here  in  an  hour  and  a  half." 

I  dragged  myself  home — very  late  and  very  weary — and 
to  bed.  Now,  after  a  poor  day's  sleep,  I  must  start  early 
for  the  blast-furnace  again — tired  to  begin  with.  I'll  try 
to  work  through  and  over  it  and  trust  for  a  dam  and  not  a 
damn  in  the  morning. 

So  I'll  say  Good  Night — and  go  to  work ! 

Calumetta, 
August  28. 

Another  night  on  the  chain  gang. 

All  the  bosses  at  the  blast-furnace  were  enjoying  the 
shower-bath,  with  which  each  department  office  is  equipped 
for  general  use,  and  I  waited  some  time  for  my  man.  He 


246        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

evidently  has  trouble  getting  labor  for  his  extremely  dirty 
and  disagreeable  work,  and  seemed  about  to  take  me  on 
when  I  unfortunately  mentioned  my  very  short  period  on 
the  " billet-dock." 

"Aw,"  he  said  then,  "you  come  round  in  a  week.  I 
sure  hate  these  hurry-up  transfers." 

He  is  probably  right.  Of  course  I  could  quit  the  "hook- 
ers gang"  and  then  take  a  chance  at  "hirin'  on"  in  the 
blast-furnace  at  the  employment  office;  but  that's  risky; 
I  guess  I'll  do  well  to  get  better  acquainted  with  my  present 
billets  and  chains — and  buddies. 

"Let  she  blow!"  snorted  my  young  Pole  as  the  starting 
whistle  blew  before  we  had  got  our  work  clothes  out  of  our 
common  locker.  "  Dat  what  she  for !  Let  she  blow." 

Yes,  we  do  take  it  easy  getting  under  way.  Mike,  the 
strenuous  crane  man,  reports  for  his  day  one  of  the  best 
sleeps  hi  weeks;  Stephen  none  at  all.  Tom,  the  gang  boss, 
got  in  only  a  few  hours,  but  he  has  looked  over  the  orders 
for  the  night  and  joyously  announces  that,  "We'll  be  able 
to  go  over  the  line  for  fair  all  right" — the  interpretation 
whereof  is  that  we'll  be  able  to  "hit  the  hay"  or  "pound 
our  ears"  for  at  least  an  hour  before  morning  without 
slighting  any  billets. 

We  did,  but  the  steel  we  handled  was  red-hot  and  made  it 
a  fairly  strenuous  night.  Of  course,  in  between  train- 
loads  there  was  time  for  tobacco  and  a  bit  of  gossip  about 
the  strike.  In  one  such  breathing  spell  I  saw  the  crane 
man  motion  big  Joe  as  he  lowered  the  huge  hoist-block 
with  its  enormous  hook.  I  supposed  that  meant  to  take 
off  or  put  on  chains  as  usual,  but  was  ordered  back  by  the 
crane's  staccato  bell.  All  was  plain  when  Joe  took  out  a 
cigarette,  placed  it  on  the  block  so  that  the  crane  man  could 
raise  it  and  "rack  it  in"  along  his  travelling  bridge  to  where 
he  could  reach  the  precious  smoke  and  enjoy  himself. 

The  Poles  seem  silent  to  us  but  they  certainly  enjoy 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    247 

conversation  with  each  other — in  loud  voices  which  kill 
sleep  for  any  one  trying  to  go  "over  the  line"  on  one  of  the 
locker-room  benches.  All  an  ordinary  person  can  get  is 
the  constant  interlarding  of  typical  American  profanity  and 
obscenity  which  seems  to  be  indulged  in  as  a  sort  of  badge 
or  "first  papers"  of  Americanism. 

My  sleepy  admonitions  to  "Aw,  hire  a  hall !"  got  no  con- 
sideration whatever.  "Poland  and  the  League  of  Nations," 
said  my  buddy  when  I  asked  him  what  the  talk  was  about. 
(Six  months  ago  I  would  have  sworn  it  was  a  riot  or  a  row 
instead  of  a  talk !) 

Finding  sleep  impossible  in  the  presence  of  the  League 
I  went  over  to  my  old  friends,  the  open-hearth  furnaces 
and  the  chaps  at  work  beneath  the  "floor,"  and  came  back 
wondering  whether  some  of  these  Americans  who  ask, 
"Why  do  these  'wops'  come  over  here,  anyway?"  would 
be  willing  to  do  for  any  money  the  work  these  foreign-born 
workers  do  without  a  murmur  at  forty-three  cents  an  hour. 

Without  at  least  a  half-day's  practice  I  could  not  have 
stayed,  for  any  money,  ten  minutes  in  the  checker-chamber 
from  which  a  crowd  of  husky  foreigners  were  taking  out  the 
checker-brick.  A  thermometer  would  without  doubt  have 
registered  there,  as  it  did  at  another  plant  mentioned  some 
time  ago,  a  heat  at  which  the  scientists  will  prove  that  life 
cannot  be  sustained !  Yet  there  they  are — a  half -hour  in 
and  a  half-hour  out,  theoretically,  though  I  doubt  if  it 
works  out  as  long  as  that  practically — helping  to  quiet  the 
demand  for  open-hearth  steel. 

If,  as  reported,  over  100,000  foreign-born  workers  have 
left  the  country  in  the  past  three  months,  and  if  this  pace 
continues,  the  answer  must  be  the  invention  of  machinery 
for  these  jobs.  Certainly  such  machinery  would  require 
no  greater  ingenuity  than  much  already  under  successful — 
and  indispensable,  also,  and  much  to  the  point,  cost-re- 
ducing— operation. 


248        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

When  it  comes  to  sweat  and  muscle  and  brawn  and  heat 
and  dirt  and  gas,  and  nearly  every  unpleasant  thing  that 
can  be  thought  of  in  connection  with  back-breaking  work, 
it  certainly  seems  up  to  these  chaps  to  do  it — these  and 
negroes.  Not  one  of  us  need  withhold  our  acknowledg- 
ment that  the  great  structure  of  American  industry — and 
that  means  American  commerce,  American  prosperity, 
American  life — is  built  finally  on  the  husky  biceps  and  the 
hairy,  sweaty  chests  of  these  fellows — these  fathers  and  hus- 
bands and  brothers.  And  of  many  of  them  even  their  chil- 
dren and  wives  and  sisters  do  not  appear  to  sense  their 
service  any  better  than  do  the  rest  of  us;  some  of  them 
seem  to  me,  with  their  endless  hours  and  absence  of  lay- 
offs, to  be  making  of  themselves  in  actuality,  genuine  living 
sacrifices  for  their  families. 

A  labor  agitator  would  agree  with  all  this — and  then 
proceed  to  draw  two  false  deductions  from  it:  first,  that 
labor  gives  all  the  value  there  is — brains  and  capital  nothing; 
second,  that  the  higher-ups  and  the  capitalists  are  wit- 
tingly and  consciously  to  blame,  are  cruel  exploiters  of  those 
beneath  them. 

Neither  logic  nor,  in  my  opinion,  experience  is  on  the 
agitator's  side.  But  the  trouble  is  that  logic  isn't  on  the 
job  with  these  men:  it  lies  down  before  those  fatigue  dams 
and  goes  to  bed  after  the  first  eight,  nine,  or  ten  hours  of 
hard  work,  and  the  feelings  which  then  take  control  of  the 
mind  of  the  tired  worker  find  sweet  music  in  his  words. 

Just  now  I  can't  complain  personally  of  the  hard  toil. 
But  even  at  that  the  twelve-hour  day — or  night — leaves 
almost  no  time  for  those  ordinary  relationships  of  father, 
brother,  sweetheart,  or  friends  which  make  life  worth  living. 
Add  to  the  twelve  the  usual  average  of  an  hour  and  a  half 
to  go  and  come — an  average  of  two  hours  would  be  faker 
in  the  city — and  you  have  left  only  three  of  the  sixteen  wak- 
ing hours  in  which  to  dress  and  undress,  eat  three  meals, 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    249 

look  at  a  paper,  get  acquainted  with  your  youngsters,  or 
retain  your  stand-in  with  your  "lady-friend." 

Of  course  logic  can  pointedly  ask:  "Why  eight  hours? 
—why  not  seven  or  five?"  And  managers  and  experts  can 
discuss  it  for  days.  Of  course  it  does  vary  according  to  the 
kind  of  work.  They  are  right  hi  saying  that  there  are  two 
sides  to  the  question — hi  logic.  But  the  workers  don't 
come  to  their  conclusions  by  logic — at  the  end  of  his  first 
or  his  fiftieth  week  of  the  twelve-hour  shift  the  manager 
would  probably  agree  with  his  men  that  it  just  "felt"  too 
long,  and  would  then  observe  that  most  of  their  mutual 
friends  were  on  eight  hours,  which  would  be  enough  to  make 
it  look  better  than  nine  or  ten. 

In  some  such  informal  way  of  feeling  rather  than  think- 
ing it  looks  as  though  pressure  is  likely  to  grow  for  making 
the  eight  or  nine  hour  day  for  the  labor  gang  (possibly 
longer  where  men  live  near  the  plant)  economic — profitable 
for  the  company  and  the  man.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm 
growing  more  sure  that  the  twelve-hour  day  is  tremendously 
wasteful,  and  so  a  part  of  our  little  old  companion,  H.  C.  L. 

It  is  probably  true  that  the  unskilled  man  who  works  with 
his  bare  hands  cannot  really  produce  enough  to  make  a 
decent  living  in  eight  hours — also  that  the  labor  gang  is 
already  the  most  expensive  part  of  the  whole  productive 
process.  In  which  case,  there  are  two  good  reasons  for  the 
invention  of  more  machinery  to  handle  those  subhuman 
jobs — besides  lessening  the  bugaboo  of  possible  labor  short- 
age at  a  later  date. 

The  conversation  of  the  workers  every  place  makes  it 
plain  as  day  that  every  deprivation  of  normal  life  and  its 
normal  relationships,  as  well  as  every  drop  of  sweat  and 
ounce  of  muscle  has  to  be  paid  for.  Long  hours,  smoke, 
dirt,  grease,  heat,  loads,  "no  spell,"  all  these  things,  as  well 
as  "bad  boss,"  go  to  make  one  job  pay  more  than  another 
if  it  is  to  find  workers.  Hour  after  hour  of  in-between  talk 


250        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

goes  on  about  these  details — and  the  charge  that  has  to  be 
made  for  them  on  the  boss  and  the  company.  And  the 
consumer  pays  the  bill  for  it  whether  it  is  genuinely  essen- 
tial to  the  process  or  merely  overlooked  by  an  ignorant 
gang  boss,  an  overworked  and  undermanned  millwright 
department,  or  an  overlogical  and  undersympathetic  su- 
perintendent. 

"Two  tune — tree  time — four  tune  I  ask  for  electric 
heater  in  my  crane,"  says  Lorenzo.  "Alia  time — 'All  right, 
some  day.'  Never  she  come.  Seex  time  I  ask  for  lights  so 
I  see  acid  tank  for  put  billets  in:  never  no  -  -  light  she 
come.  Dees  h—  -  of  job." 

"Yes,"  says  the  brakie  of  the  dinky  engine  which  hauls 
the  trucks  piled  with  billets  from  the  blooming-mill  to  us, 
or  takes  the  hot  ingots  from  the  cinder  pit  and  the  open- 
hearth  to  the  soaking  pits.  "Get  $6.95,  but  all  tune  run, 
run — never  no  rest — ten  hours  day  and  fourteen  nights. 
No  good." 

"Had  good  job  in  M ,"  says  Walter,  a  Polish  fellow- 
hooker,  "but  cars  no  good  dere — leave  too  far  to  walk  in 
winter.  .  .  .  Too  cold — and  den  I  got  no  people  dere. 
Here  my  cousins." 

All  sounds  perfectly  human,  doesn't  it? 

Here,  too,  as  everywhere  before,  I  get  the  idea  that  all 
this  would  be  different  if  there  was  more  feeling  that  hard 
work  would  in  the  end  bring  the  longed-for  better  job. 
But  everywhere  here,  as  usual,  is  the  conviction  that  the 
only  real  way  to  get  ahead  is  to  marry  the  boss's  daughter. 
To  my  surprise  a  young  college-bred  chap  who  has  an 
important  job  as  a  semi-technical  clerk  voiced  this  con- 
viction, and — worse — was  able  to  support  his  point. 

"The  department  super? — he's  the  cousin  of  the  general 
super.  His  assistant? — married  his  sister" — and  so  on 
down  the  line  for  nearly  everybody  in  sight,  or  out  of  it, 
in  the  whole  place. 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    251 

"Why,  we've  got  men  over  us,"  said  the  engineer; 
"  they  're  blamed  good  men,  I'll  say,  too.  But  fellows  they 
used  to  boss  are  now  over  'em,  and  they  in  the  same  job 
as  seventeen  years  ago;  they  hadn't  no  pull,  you  see.  An' 
I  gotta  friend — he's  a  '  sailor  '—that's  a  general  engine  and 
machine  fixer.  He  goes  to  war;  he  comes  back,  y'  under- 
stand, to  get  his  job.  The  boss's  nephey's  got  it.  'Thout 
no  experience  a-tall,  y'  might  say.  'Course  he  quit,  wouldn't 
you?" 

But  I've  slept  from  seven-thirty  till  two-thirty — seven 
hours.  It's  four-thirty  now — time  to  start  for  supper  and 
work.  I  could  stand  it  not  to  get  into  my  dirty  clothes — 
but  here  goes. 

So  long  till  what  always  looks  and  feels  like  day  after 
to-morrow,  but  isn't. 

Same  Place, 
August  29. 

Of  course  the  night  shift  gives  little  chance  to  see  the 
social  life  of  the  district.  The  saloons  seem  generally  de- 
serted— at  least  in  the  afternoons.  The  Greek  candy  and 
soda  places  look  busy,  but  not  with  working  men.  Beer  is 
still  available,  also  whiskey  to  those  in  the  know,  I'm  told, 
though  at  very  high  prices.  The  movies  seem  sufficiently 
lurid — and  prosperous. 

In  general,  the  houses  and  flats  are  not  particularly  bad— 
partly  perhaps  because  many  of  the  women  of  the  district 
help  out  by  such  jobs  as  "putting  the  tights  on  the  sausages" 
at  a  local  packing-house.  As  usual,  the  homes  nearest  the 
plant  are  the  worst,  filled  apparently,  every  room  of  them 
and  out  onto  the  street,  with  the  least  successful  of  the 
foreign-born  and  negroes,  their  women,  and,  especially,  their 
children.  In  between  are  numerous  dirty  eating-rooms  and 
saloons  with  brand-new  "Soft  Drinks"  signs.  As  the  young 
man  passes  some  of  these  latter,  the  panel  at  the  back  of  the 
show-window  opens  stealthily  and  discloses  the  beckoning 
finger  of  the  painted  barmaid. 


252        WHAT'S  ON   THE   WORKER'S   MIND 

The  English  language — mostly  broken — is  fairly  common 
on  the  street.  In  the  early  morning  and  evening  hours  the 
cars  are  crowded  with  hard-working  men  going  to  or  coming 
from  work  with  their  dinner-pails.  At  our  plant  compara- 
tively few  seem  to  patronize  the  very  good  and  inexpensive 
company  restaurant.  In  their  hands  are  a  surprisingly 
large  number  of  newspapers  of  all  languages,  including 
mostly  the  lurid  and  well-known  American  sheet  which 
gives  the  least  news  and  the  most  bitter  and  unfair  criticism 
of  every  group  except  the  workers.  From  the  photographers' 
exhibits  it  is  plain  that  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  is 
a  frequent  and  highly  festive  occasion,  with  confirmation 
competing  with  it  for  first  place  among  life's  high  spots. 

The  search  for  a  room  discovered  some  crowded,  dark, 
grimy  apartments,  with  dingy  bathrooms  of  antiquated  and 
neglected  plumbing  and  linoleum.  "We  mostly  gets  four 
dollars  for  it,  sir."  My  choice  at  three  has  been  clean, 
comfortable,  and  well-ventilated — cared  for  by  a  matronly 
grandmother  of  good  German  type,  who  was  proud  of  hav- 
ing all  clerks,  and  needed  strong  urging  to  take  in  such  a 
rough-looking  steel  worker  as  she  evidently  thought  me. 

To-day,  particularly,  the  numerousness  of  the  district's 
cripples  has  got  on  my  nerves.  While  we  were  getting  our 
work  duds  on  last  night  I  noticed  big  Lorenzo  using  his 
knife  to  cut  off  a  finger  from  a  new  pair  of  the  white  canvas 
gloves  which  are  almost  as  necessary  as  clothes.  When  I 
protested,  he  answered  "No  good — no  use!"  and  held  up 
his  hand  to  show  that  finger  missing.  During  the  night  as 
we  fixed  the  chains  around  the  heavy  hot  truck  loads,  or 
put  the  tongs  on  the  big  billets,  watchful  to  extricate  our 
thumbs  and  fingers,  my  buddy  carried  on  the  tale  of  all  the 
accidents  he  had  witnessed: 

"Dese  two  fingers  here  dat  cost  him.  See?  Anodder 
fellow,  da  whole  billet  it  break  loose  and  fall  on  him — nine 
mont'  in  hospital  'fore  he  get  well.  .  .  .  Me  ?  Me  no  get 
hurt — me  know  how — work  t'irteen  years  and  never  no 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    253 

accident.  Green  man — green  man  lak  you — he  get  hurt — 
unless  watch  mighty  sharp!" 

In  the  restaurant,  after  Tom,  the  boss,  had  told  how  he 
broke  his  leg — a  one-footed  boy  served  himself  and  handled 
his  crutch  dexterously.  On  the  way  home  I  passed  the  one- 
armed  crossing  watchman,  bought  a  paper  of  the  half- 
handed  newsman,  and  then  joined  a  crowd  in  the  street — 
to  gaze  on  a  mass  of  thick  red  blood  left  on  the  pavement 
just  after  the  home-hurrying  victim  of  the  motor-cycle  col- 
lision had  been  put  in  the  ambulance  and  hurried  off  to  the 
company  hospital. 

On  the  car  I  was  not  too  tired  to  return  the  smile  of 
an  early-rising  baby  on  its  father's  shoulder — smiled  till  I 
glanced  at  its  chubby  hand  and  discovered  to  my  horror 
that  all  the  fingers  had  been  cut  off ! 

Here  are  my  thanks  to  be  through  with  this  job  and  still 
intact,  though  I  expect  to  locate  in  one  or  two  more  mills 
before  I  go  back  to  assume  the  white  (collared)  man's  bur- 
den. I'm  only  sorry  that  I  can't  stop  for  a  go  at  the  blast- 
furnace or  the  Bessemer.  But  I  will  say  that  it  doesn't 
take  many  twelve-hour  nights  of  uninteresting  hand  labor 
to  seem  like  a  mighty  long  time. 

It  would  seem  longer  were  it  not  for  the  flaming  panoramas 
and  the  monster  noises  always  on  hand.  To  be  close  to  all 
the  mammoth  power  they  spell  gives  somehow  a  subtle 
pleasure — as  though  it  were  somehow  in  process  of  becoming 
part  of  your  own  personal  equipment.  As  you  stand  on  the 
rim  of  the  pickling-tank  waiting  to  guide  the  crane-load  of 
billets  into  the  acid  for  taking  off  the  scale,  you  suddenly 
feel  warmth  at  your  back,  and  turn  to  marvel  at  the  won- 
drous orange-colored  ingots  following  the  dinky  through  the 
yard  as  silently  as  if  they  were  the  iridescent  oil- jars  of 
Ali  Baba.  Then  over  in  the  open-hearth  the  building's  out- 
lines are  in  an  instant  thrown  out  black  against  the  sky  by 
the  dazzling  silver  whiteness  of  the  tapping — as  if  the  devil 


254        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

himself  had  suddenly  switched  on  the  lights  of  Hell's  Gen- 
eral High  Headquarters.  A  moment  later  the  crane  bell 
in  the  near-by  building  sounds  its  urgent  warning,  and  the 
soaking-pit  opens  to  throw  out  a  lemon-yellow  glow  on  the 
great  room's  black  steel  rafters.  Then  the  crane's  huge  and 
sinister  mutilated  hand  of  finger  and  thumb  reaches  down 
into  the  fiery  abyss  under  the  guidance  of  the  unseen  man 
above  and  then  relentlessly  soars  up  and  over  with  its 
dripping  yellow  ingot  to  the  receiving  tables  of  the  bloom- 
ing-mill. Too-ot !  goes  the  whistle  of  the  bar  roller  from  his 
bridge  and,  looking  like  some  dumb  helpless  beast,  the  ingot 
is  rushed  onto  the  roll  tables,  clankity-clank,  up  to  and 
through  the  huge,  sputtering  rolls  that  shower  hot  fiery 
scale  everywhere,  only  to  be  stopped  suddenly  with  a 
colossal  bang !  After  an  instant's  pause  of  silence  the  rolls 
are  reversed,  the  yellow  beast,  now  turning  red,  is  pushed 
back  through  and,  clankity-clank  again,  stopped,  bang!— 
till  it  is  become  lean  and  thin  and  comparatively  cold, 
ready  to  be  cut  and  hustled  again  into  other  furnaces  for 
later  heating  and  further  rolling  into  the  finished  beams 
for  the  new  sky-scraper.  Too-ot !  goes  the  whistle  again, 
and  on  the  instant  the  soaking-pit  crane-man  has  deposited 
his  dripping  burden  and  another  Ingot  Beast  is  on  his 
way  to  the  slaughter  of  the  tirelessly  grumbling  and  cease- 
lessly sputtering  rolls :  for  these  are  tonnage-men,  and  every 
instant  means  money.  Marvellous,  too,  are  the  deeds  and 
doings  of  the  crane-men  who  reach  into  the  furnaces  to 
clasp  one  of  these  elongated  blooms,  lift  it  off  of  the  tables, 
and  then  by  a  sort  of  swing-your-partner  movement,  which 
is  too  complex  to  try  to  describe,  contrive  to  place  it  in 
other  furnaces,  and  then  put  the  reheated  steel  back  again 
onto  the  " tables"  which  carry  it  to  the  smaller  rolls. 
These  give  it  its  final  form  and  leave  it  to  cool  until  it  is 
put  into  the  cars  for  shipment  and  use. 

It's  a  shame  that  the  movies  can't  make  these  wondrous 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    255 

sounds  and  don't  make  these  wondrous  sights  the  experi- 
ence of  every  one  who  enjoys  the  modern  life,  the  weight  of 
which  is  borne  by  the  fabricated  contents  of  those  gorgeous, 
orange-colored  Ali  Baba  jars! 

When  we  parted  after  the  morning's  wash-up  I  brought 
out  my  overalls  under  the  pretense  of  necessary  laundering 
—saying  good-by  calls  out  too  many  questions,  and  trying 
to  get  my  money  on  the  spot  is  too  hard  on  time  and  dis- 
position. 

On  the  whole,  it  looks  as  though,  like  most  of  the  others, 
the  company  is  trying  to  better  its  relations  with  its  men, 
but  does  not  seem  to  realize  how  far  they  must  go  in  the 
way  of  organization  to  bridge  the  gulf  after  they  have  taken 
the  first  step  of  genuinely  wishing  to  be  fair  and  square. 
Classes  there  are  in  various  studies,  but  no  worker  I  met 
knows  of  them.  Of  the  character  of  the  men  at  the  top 
no  one  I  saw  had  anything  but  the  haziest  ideas,  though  for 
the  most  part  all  agreed  that  they  were,  of  course,  here  as 
elsewhere,  "out  for  the  dollar." 

My  last  inquiry  was  of  a  young  and  handsome,  black- 
pompadoured  crane-man  from  another  "dock."  Born  here, 
he  had  had  two  years  public  school  in  addition  to  a  Polish 
parochial  school  which  gave  instruction  mostly  in  English 
and  partly  in  Polish. 

"No,  my  father's  not  goin'  back — all  of  us  are  here.  But 
at  that  he's  sorry  he  came  over;  he  left  a  good  business  over 
there  for  some  fool  reason.  He's  raised  twelve  of  us  kids 
and  he's  husky  as  you'd  want.  He  has  drunk  a  beer-glass 
full  of  whiskey  every  night  for  thirty  years — 'course  about 
half  of  it  is  the  melted  lard  he  puts  in  it.  But  he's  like 
the  rest  of  these  foreign-born  slaves  around  here — worked 
his  head  off  and  still  only  a  'chipper,'  which,  as  you  know, 
is  all-fired  hard  work.  Me,  I'm  just  married.  .  .  .  What ! 
Twelve  kids  to  go  round  and  kiss  the  foreman  for  jobs? 
No,  not  for  me !" 


256        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

One  thing  is  certain,  the  second  generation  he  represents 
will  never  be  seen  very  often  or  very  long  in  the  heat  of  the 
checker-chambers.  So  if  that  work  is  to  be  done  by  humans 
and  not  by  machines,  it  will  require  a  constant  stream  of 
"  them  ignorant  foreigners." 

I'm  off  for  other  steel  towns  in  this  same  district. 

Calumetropolis, 

Wednesday  Afternoon,  Sept.  3. 

It  appears  that  every  steel-worker  comes  into  this  dis- 
trict sooner  or  later — certainly  the  crowds  are  large  enough 
at  the  different  plant  gates.  And  that's  the  nearest  I've 
got  yet  to  a  job — that  and  a  pair  of  legs  well  wearied  by 
walking  from  one  gate  to  the  other. 

The  system  sure  does  rub  it  in  that  the  time  of  a  jobless 
man  is  of  no  value  to  himself  or  anybody  else. 

"All  the  hirin's  done  at  the  other  gate,"  one  policeman 
advised  gruffly  enough,  as  though  he  had  something  else 
of  real  importance  on  his  mind. 

"No  hirin'  done  here  except  at  five  o'clock,"  was  the 
word  of  his  colleague  at  the  other  gate,  more  polite  but  no 
less  definite  and  final. 

"What  do  you  want?"  came  in  an  insulting  tone  of 
voice  from  a  tough-looking  foreign-born  worker  as  I  stepped 
into  the  employment  office  at  five  o'clock  after  a  half-day's 
loaf.  It  was  a  bold  attempt  to  pose  as  a  skilled  or  semi- 
skilled man  entitled  to  walk  inside,  away  from  the  un- 
skilled crowd  outside.  But  it  didn't  work.  I  was  ordered 
out  into  the  crowd  of  fifty  or  so  negroes,  Slavs,  Greeks, 
Spaniards,  Persians,  and  others  standing  around  for  the 
"hirin'  at  five." 

It  was  fully  six  before  a  blue-coated  but  unimpressive 
Greek  said  in  a  good  try  at  friendliness:  "Back  this  way, 
fellows !  Everybody  back  here." 

So  we  all  backed  and  huddled  up  against  the  fence  and, 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    257 

like  a  herd  of  cattle,  turned  our  heads  in  the  one  direction 
—that  of  the  hirer  whose  coming  the  order  was  supposed 
to  herald. 

After  another  long  wait  he  came,  leisurely  enough,  pre- 
sumably in  order  to  indicate  that  he  was  not  unduly  anxious 
to  buy  what  we  had  to  sell. 

"Anybody  here  want  to  go  on  as  labor  in  Open-hearth 
No.  2?"  he  asked  as  he  looked  at  his  white  slips  and  moved 
through  the  crowd. 

To  my  surprise  only  one  or  two  volunteered,  and  they 
only  after  repeated  invitations. 

Ditto  with  the  call  for  laborers  in  rail-mill,  dock,  coke- 
plant,  and  blast-furnace.  When  I  volunteered  for  this 
last  he  considerately  told  me  to  wait  and  he'd  hope  to  have 
something  better  soon. 

"Sure,  all  these  guys  has  had  a  crack  at  all  them  bum 
jobs — or  else  their  friends  has  told  'em,"  explained  a  tanned 
and  toughened  young  son  of  Greek  parents  when  I  asked 
what  the  matter  was.  "And  them  as  has  gone  on  here  just 
now — you'll  see  'em  here  to-morrow  night  tryin'  for  some- 
thin'  else.  Who  wants  to  work  in  open-hearth  or  checker- 
chambers  this  weather,  huh?  And  they're  all  too  dirty, 
anyway — and  too  hard.  Look  at  them  hands — them's 
from  eleven  and  a  half  hours  solid  on  them  jobs — no  chance 
to  sit  down  and  hi  the  coke-plant  no  chance  to  wash-up- 
like  them  guys  there." 

Sure  enough,  there  came  by  a  dozen  men  as  black  and 
dirty  as  miners — and  much  harder  to  clean ! — going  off  their 
twelve-hour  turn. 

"In  rail-mill,"  added  a  hardy  Pole,  "alia  time  lift-'em 
up  rail,  push-'em  up  rail,  pile-'em  up  rail.  .  .  .  Too  heavy, 
no  good." 

Later  he  added  that  he  had  worked  in  another  depart- 
ment three  years  without  a  break  till  nine  days  ago,  when 
his  boss — "He  no  like  me  and  tell  me  'get  the  h—  -  out,' 


258        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

but  superintendent  he  tell  me  'stay.'  But  every  day  no 
can  see  him  for  get-'em  back  job." 

A  big  chap  with  gold  teeth  and  smooth-shaven,  rosy 
cheeks,  who  appeared  to  hold  himself  above  the  common 
herd  of  us,  proved  to  be  a  soaking-pit  heater.  He  admitted 
most  proudly  earning  an  average  of  fifteen  dollars  per  day 
by  combination  of  time  and  tonnage. 

"Well,  I  think  it's  comin'  to  me  now — been  at  it  fourteen 
years,  since  the  days  when  I  used  to  have  to  be  carried  home 
done  up  by  the  heat.  In  the  last  five  years  I've  run  six 
autos  ragged.  .  .  .  Sure  I'm  independent.  That's  why 

I'm  here.  The  boss  at  Steel  Company  tried  to  tell 

me  somethin'  about  heatin',  and  I  says,  'If  you  know  this 
job  so  well,'  I  says,  'it's  yours,  you've  got  it,'  I  says,  'and 
you  keep  it.'  — Gee,  you  should-a  seen  the  look  on  his 
face !  But  I  don't  need  to  stay  any  place  I  don't  want  to." 

Of  course  we  got  around  to  the  danger  of  a  nation-wide 
strike. 

"Well,  I  know  somethin'  about  strikes — I'm  blacklisted 

now  at  X Steel  Company,  and  I've  been  out  in  three 

big  ones.  And  I'll  bet  any  man  the  gang  won't  last  two 
months.  These  darned  foreigners  won't  stick — they  cave 
in.  Most  of  'em  simply  can't  live  three  weeks  'thout  get- 
tin'  a  piece  of  money  somehow.  No,  sir,  they're  fightin' 
too  much  money  for  what  they  got  in  their  jeans." 

All  this  while  the  crowd  was  milling  around  the  moving 
employment  man  like  cattle  around  the  man  with  the  corn- 
basket. 

"Anybody  want  to  learn  chipping?  Good  jobs  to  start 
chipping!  .  .  .  Where'd  you  work  last,  son?  .  .  .  And 
before  that?  All  right — go  and  stand  over  there." 

As  he  passed  my  rosy-cheeked  friend,  he  whispered: 
"I'm  keeping  you  in  mind,  but  nothing  yet." 

By  seven-thirty  the  purchaser  of  labor  had  gone  inside 
and  stayed  so  long  that  the  crowd  had  to  assume  that  the 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    259 

market-house  was  closed  until  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  so  drifted  away.  Joining  our  cursings  with  the  more 
violent  ones  of  the  crowd,  a  young  Greek  and  I  walked 
over  to  town  and  forgot  our  troubles  in  a  movie.  (He  is 
planning  to  go  back  home  as  soon  as  he  can  find  the  money 
and  accept  his  uncle's  offer,  earlier  turned  down,  to  educate 
him  for  medicine.) 

Figuring  on  the  usual  delay,  I  joined  him  and  a  group  of 
about  eighty  laborers  a  half-hour  after  the  hiring  hour  of 
six  this  morning.  It  was  seven  when  the  Greek  policeman 
shoved  us  back  again  against  the  fence  and  a  clerk  came  out 
to  look  us  over.  His  nose  was  very  large  and  very  disdain- 
fully tilted,  and  gave  him  a  very  high-brow  expression, 
but  from  his  mouth  there  issued  constantly  a  copious 
stream  of  very  low-brow  tobacco-juice — intended,  doubt- 
less, to  alibi  his  nose  and  prove  to  us  he  was  a  regular 
fellow. 

Again  only  a  few  accepted  the  invitation  to  "go  on"  to 
the  jobs  offered — many  of  them  waiting  for  the  better  ones 
they  expected,  according  to  experience,  to  be  given  out 
later  from  the  sheaf  of  white  slips. 

"Not  a  thing  in  that  line,"  he  said  to  me  when  I  asked 
for  "mill-wrightin',  furnace,  or  machine-helpin'." 

"Nothing  yet,"  he  whispered  to  a  young  Jewish  boy  of 
dapper  clothes  and  appearance  with  whom  I  shortly  got 
chummy. 

He  had  been  laid  off  his  crane  in  a  Pittsburgh  mill  and  had 
waited  at  this  gate  twice  daily  for  a  month,  living  with  his 
married  sister  meanwhile.  He  was  getting  discouraged 
and  therefore  sore.  As  we  went  away  together  to  another 
mill  after  we  had  stood  around  the  hiring-clerk  for  an  hour 
and  a  quarter — besides  the  half-hour  before  that  worthy 
appeared — the  curse  he  let  fly  at  the  whole  institution  was 
terrible  to  hear.  In  support  of  it,  he  argued: 

"Does  it  look  reasonable?    A  great  big  mill  like  that 


260        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

workin'  thousands  of  men  and  never  no  crane-man  taken 
on  in  a  month !  And  they  won't  let  me  in  to  see  a  foreman 
or  anybody !  Aw,  I  tell  you  nothin'  does  a  fellow  any  good 
but  pull.  You  gotta  have  a  drag  or  they  treat  you  like 
cattle." 

For  most  of  our  two-mile  walk — till  we  hailed  an  obliging 
ice-cream  truck  driver — he  took  great  pleasure  in  enter- 
taining me  with  stories  of  his  skill  hi  getting  the  work  out 
of  a  crane  by  the  right  working  of  the  levers  to  "bridge" 
(move  the  crane's  beams  the  length  of  the  building),  "hoist" 
(up  and  down  from  the  floor),  and  "trolley"  or  "rack" 
(from  one  side  to  the  other) — all  at  the  same  tune  "and 
never  no  smash-ups  or  call-downs  from  the  boss." 

He  seems  to  possess  the  makings  of  a  good  worker.  But 
it  is  easy  to  see  that  with  another  month  of  this  his  morale 
will  be  so  broken  that  he  will  become  a  hopeless  good-for- 
nothing,  whether  on  the  job  or  off.  But  anybody  with  any 
self-respect  or  any  skill  there  at  the  gate — he  and  the  others 
call  it  the  "bull-pen" — will  sympathize  with  the  evolution 
of  his  thinkings  and  his  feelings  there  on  the  hiring-line  each 
evening  and  morning  which  made  him  sum  up  the  purposes 
and  plans  of  his  immediate  future  with: 

"But  I'm  almighty  sure  o'  one  thing — you  won't  catch 
me  workin'  myself  to  death  when  I  do  get  in." 

When  we  arrived  finally  at  our  destination,  the  pay-clerk 
told  us  to  ask  the  watchman  whether  he  had  anything  for 
us.  That  gentleman  was  very  democratic,  but  the  best  he 
could  do  was  to  break  the  news  to  us  gently  that: 

"All  the  hirin's  at  four.     Be  here  at  four." 

We  trudged  another  half-mile  to  another  plant,  feeling 
sure  that  its  newness  would  mean  work  for  us.  The  watch- 
man was  affable  though  dignified,  but  referred  us  to  a  very 
rough-looking  employment  manager,  who  in  turn  said  there 
was  nothing  for  a  crane-man,  but  might  be  something  on 
the  hot-mills  if  I  would  "Be  here  at  four." 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN   261 

So  there  you  are — and  here  I  am — still  outside  the  gates. 
However,  it  looks  good  for  a  job  this  afternoon  on  the 
evening  shift.  I'll  have  to  catch  a  little  sleep  and  take  my 
working  clothes  along  so  as  to  be  ready  for  a  night's  work. 
Perhaps  I  should  take  my  dinner,  too,  but  I  guess  I'll 
gamble  on  some  kind  of  a  plant  restaurant. 
Here's  hoping ! 

Calumetropolis, 
Sept.  3,  8  P.  M. 

It  certainly  does  get  on  a  fellow's  nerves — this  constant 
disregard  of  the  jobless  job-seeker's  time ! 

As  instructed,  I  made  sure  this  afternoon  to  be  on  hand 
at  four  all  ready  for  that  possible  hot-mill  job,  and  stood 
properly  lined  up  with  a  couple  of  negroes  who  were  getting 
their  time-cards  made  out  for  going  to  work.  But  the 
clerk  told  me  that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  hiring,  and 
the  man  who  did  was  down-town. 

To  him  and  the  watchman  I  reiterated:  "But  he  told 
me  to  be  here  at  four !" 

The  watchman  asked  some  questions  intended  to  indi- 
cate his  belief  that  I  was  a  liar.  He  also  refused  permission 
to  go  into  the  plant  to  see  the  hot-mill  foreman.  I  never 
wanted  to  swear  more.  I  did  calm  down,  however,  and 
gave  myself  the  satisfaction  of  expressing  to  him,  quite 
politely,  my  conviction  that  plant  policemen  in  general — 
and  I  acted  as  if  I  didn't  think  he  was  one,  his  blue  coat 
being  off — cancel  off  about  twenty  per  cent  of  the  value  of 
all  the  company  spends  in  restaurants  or  other  forms  for 
securing  the  good-will  of  their  employees.  In  less  ruffled 
mood  I'll  cut  it  down  to  fifteen,  but  no  lower,  as  previously 
stated.  It  is  foolish  for  the  management  to  point  with 
pride  to  their  positive  efforts  to  get  good-will  and  then 
never  take  a  look  at  some  of  the  things  which  are  constantly 
negativing  them. 

To  wear  off  the  raspy  edge  of  my  disappointment,  I  walked 


262        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

over  to  the  -  -  plant.  There  the  employment  manager 
appeared  quite  human.  He  could  give  me  nothing  of  a 
skilled  sort,  but  would  be  glad  to  let  me  start  in  the  yard, 
at  from  forty-two  to  sixty  cents,  according  to  what  turned 
up.  I  agreed  to  come  if  my  next  try  failed  on  the  hot-mills. 
On  the  way  to  town  I  dropped  into  the  company  hotel  for 
unmarried  men.  It's  a  wonder — handsome,  clean,  with 
tiled  floors,  shower-baths,  all  for  about  ten  dollars  a  week, 
room  and  meals. 

So  now  it's  "Be  here  between  seven  and  eight  in  the 
morning" — as  usual.  It's  well  I  was  born  a  grand  hoper. 
But  it  makes  a  fellow  feel  that  everything  else  worth  while 
vanishes  as  hope  vanishes  when  you  see  there  at  the  gates 
some  of  those  discouraged  chaps  who  feel  themselves  grad- 
ually settling  down  a  rung  or  two  in  the  scale  of  respecta- 
bility— from  skilled  or  semiskilled  to  unskilled  labor.  The 
odd  thing  is  to  notice  how  easy  it  is  to  absorb  all  their  moods 
myself.  It  takes  an  effort  not  to  feel  as  sore  at  the  com- 
pany and  the  world  as  they  do,  even  though  it  does  not 
mean  to  me,  as  it  threatens  constantly  to  mean  to  them, 
the  month-long  difference  between  bed  and  no  bed,  food 
and  no  food,  decency  and  indecency,  now  that  my  tour  is 
almost  ended. 

Anyway,  I'll  try  to  sleep  and  dream  of  the  white-collar 
world  where  my  time  used  to  be  considered  valuable — and 
hope  for  the  best  in  the  morning. 

In  the  way  of  jollier  things,  by  the  way — and  I  need  to 
think  of  them — I  am  reminded  of  my  unsuccessful  hunt  for 
a  steel  job  in  a  Massachusetts  city  last  spring.  After  I  had 
been  at  five  gates  without  result,  I  bought  a  paper  and  looked 
at  the  Help  Wanted  column.  Sure  enough  there  it  was— 
in  big  letters,  too — "Must  Have  Experienced  Steel— 

By  that  time  I  was  getting  out  my  paper  and  lead-pencil 
to  take  down  the  address,  glowing  with  pleasure  meanwhile 
at  my  brilliancy  in  thus  discovering  the  well-hidden  oppor- 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN   263 

tunity.  Then  I  read  the  small  print — and  woke  up.  It 
read:  "Must  Have  Experienced  Steel  stitchers  on  high-grade 
corsets." 

Calumetropolis. 

Sept.  4. 

Right  thumb  and  fingers  almost  strike  at  the  thought  of 
grasping  even  a  pen  after  the  work  they  have  been  doing 
for  seven  hours  to-day.  But  still  they  share  in  the  general 
delight  at  having  found  a  job — besides  having  played  so 
well  their  part  in  the  "virile  and  moving  drama"  of  the 
day — it  might  be  entitled  "Forty  Buckets  o'  Sweat."  It 
certainly  was  "moving";  because  that's  the  job — it's  called 
the  "drag-out"  by  the  men,  and  "pair-heater's  helper" 
by  the  management — and  it  takes  something  "virile,"  all 
right,  to  stand  up  to  it. 

It  all  came  from  my  lucky  mention  there  at  the  gate  this 
morning  of  one  of  the  company's  other  plants  where  I 
worked  on  the  cold  rolls  last  winter  in  Episode  II.  A  half- 
hour  later  I  was  being  examined  by  the  doctor.  It  seems 
ungrateful  to  mention  it,  for  I  was  mighty  glad  to  get, 
finally,  on  the  hot-mills.  But  it  is  worth  noticing  that 
fifteen  minutes  after  he  told  me  I'd  evidently  picked  up  a 
near-rupture  on  some  job,  I  was  doing  the  heaviest  job  of 
lifting  encountered  to  date.  (That  is,  after  all,  pretty  typical 
—too  much  of  this  betterment  idea  seems  not  to  have  got 
out  of  the  service  building  and  right  into  the  job  where — 
and  only  where — it  can  save  the  worker's  sweat  and  skin 
and  blood.  That's  where  he  wants  it.) 

It  seems  that  the  "drag-out's"  job  is  first  to  put  the  pairs 
of  cold  steel  in  the  form  of  "sheet-bar"  onto  the  "peel" 
or  heavy  iron  flat  bar  or  paddle  with  which  the  pair-heater 
pushes  them  back  into  the  hottest  parts  of  his  furnace. 
During  the  whole  of  the  morning  it  was  given  as  law  and 
gospel  that  these  bars  had  to  be  picked  up  and  carried 
over  to  the  peel  four  at  a  time.  After  the  heater  had  told 


264        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

me  that  each  of  them  weighed  thirty-five  pounds — they're 
about  thirty  inches  long,  six  wide,  and  one  thick — I  knew 
why  it  was  that  my  back  sort  of  squeaked  every  tune  I 
had  to  lift  four  of  them  practically  off  the  floor — it  was  not 
so  bad  when  they  could  be  taken  off  the  top  of  the  pile. 
The  new  and  younger  chap  who  was  supposed  to  help  me 
threw  his  gloves  down  after  a  few  of  those  liftings  and  trips 
over  to  the  peel  and  walked  off  the  job.  The  other  boy 
put  in  his  place  had  to  stop  every  few  minutes  and  massage 
his  arm  out  of  the  cramps — until  we  prevailed  upon  the 
heater  to  let  us  make  it  hi  two  trips  of  two  bars  each.  Later 
in  the  day  we  worked  up  to  three  again,  and  with  a  few 
days  of  practice  I  suppose  four  would  be  0.  K. 

After  " charging"  in  this  way  one  of  the  furnace  compart- 
ments, we  would  start  taking  out  of  the  other  the  pairs 
heated  hot  enough  to  be  rolled.  This  means  taking  hold 
of  the  hottest  pairs  with  our  tongs  after  edging  them  off 
the  pile,  dropping  them  onto  the  floor,  squeezing  the  tongs 
tight  together  for  a  fresh  hold  again  between  thumb  and 
hand,  and  then  walking  off  the  forty  or  fifty  feet  to  the 
"roughing  rolls,"  where  the  "rougher"  helps  lift  them  onto 
the  mill  for  pushing  through  to  the  "catcher"  on  the  other 
side,  the  two  of  them  pushing  them  through  and  lifting 
them  back  over  the  heavy  rolls  until  they  are  thin  enough 
to  be  swung  deftly  over  to  the  finishing  rolls  near  by — other 
hot  pairs  being  led  up  to  him  meanwhile.  Most  of  the  bars 
worked  on  the  turn  were  on  their  way  to  automobiles, 
though  others  go  into  machinery,  onto  roofs,  into  tanks,  etc. 
Before  you  work  out  the  properly  polite  way  to  sidle  up  to 
a  red-hot  furnace  mouth  for  the  capture  of  the  pairs,  you 
are  likely  to  use  your  fingers  a  number  of  times  to  see 
if  your  eyebrows  are  still  with  you.  Luckily,  running- 
water  permitted  frequent  wettings  of  face  and  neck  and 
wrists. 

But  at  that  a  chap  gets  a  lot  of  satisfaction  out  of  feeling 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN   265 

that  he's  doing  the  work  of  a  regular  "he"  fellow.  Mighty 
few  sounds  in  my  life  have  given  me  more  satisfaction  than 
the  sizzle  of  the  water  in  the  bosh  or  trough  as  I  put  into  it 
my  first  pair  of  red-hot  tongs.  The  big  worry  is  to  wonder 
whether  you  can  do  it  until  four  o'clock  without  letting 
anybody  see  the  color  of  your  tongue.  One  way  I  saved 
myself  was  to  tell  myself  regularly,  as  I  started  out  with  my 
pair  properly  tonged:  "Now  don't  get  fussed.  This  sweat 
won't  hurt  you.  Keep  going  but  take  it  easy — like  you  was 
walking  down  Fifth  Avenue."  (I  find  I'm  beginning  to 
think  in  bad  grammar !) 

But  what  helped  most  was  the  kindly  advice  of  the  heater 
and  the  boss  roller  to  "Don't  get  excited  and  you'll  learn  it 
all  right.  Watch  out  for  the  tricks  of  it  and  so  save  your 
strength.  It's  sleight  more  than  strength  that  does  it." 

Then's  the  time  the  new  man  comes  to  know  the  innate 
character  of  his  superiors  and  associates,  whether  it's  good 
or  bad.  And  that  of  my  crowd  is  undoubtedly  good. 

The  heater  said  it  was  one  of  the  hardest  of  turns  because 
it  was  all  what  he  calls  "single  iron,"  and  so  did  not  call 
for  the  special  heating  and  handling  by  the  rollers  of  "double 
iron,"  which  gives  us  pair-heaters  a  breathing-spell.  There 
simply  was  no  let-up  all  day  of  charge  and  drag  out,  charge 
and  drag  out.  But  I  stood  it  so  well  that  for  to-morrow 
I've  dated  up  for  an  encore  and  a  long  turn  besides. 

During  the  morning  one  of  the  bosses  asked  if  my  experi- 
ence in  the  other  plant  would  make  me  consider  an  assistant 
foremanship  in  the  cold  rolls.  Of  course,  now  that  I'm  so 
near  through  my  adventure,  I  have  to  take  every  such 
chance.  So,  after  finishing  the  eight-hour  "go"  on  the  hot 
mills  at  four  to-morrow,  I  start  at  five-thirty  on  the  twelve- 
hour  night  turn  with  my  old  friends  the  cold  rolls — and  the 
dignity  of  an  assistant  foreman. 

From  here  it  looks  like  submerging  down  into  a  sea  of  the 
pink,  quivering  heat  and  the  yellow-red  sheet-bar  of  the 


266        WHAT'S   ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

furnaces  and  of  sweat — coming  up  for  air  on  top  of  a  pile 
of  steel  sheets  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  next  week ! 

Calumetropolis, 

Sunday  afternoon,  Sept.  7. 

It  certainly  is  the  dickens  to  crawl  out  from  under  the 
strain  and  sweat  of  two  days  of  hot  work  crowded  into  one, 
and  then  find  you've  got  no  money  to  get  anything  to  eat. 
The  only  compensation  is  that  for  a  while  you're  too  sleepy 
and  tired  to  care  about  eating.  But  at  that  I  can't  think 
with  much  pleasure  of  that  almost  foodless  trail  from 
Friday  midnight  to  this  morning.  Still  it  has  helped  me 
to  get  the  feel  of  the  man  in  hard  lines — though  it  has  also 
given  my  belief  in  human  nature  a  severe  jolt. 

But  let  me  lead  into  the  desert  of  hunger  as  I  came  into 
it.  Luckily  the  eight  hours  on  the  furnace  brought  mostly 
" double"  and  " light"  bar — with  decent  breathing-spells 
after  we  finished  charging.  One  of  the  day's  best  pointers 
came  from  a  strong  and  energetic  colored  man  who  has 
worked  up  to  the  position  of  rougher. 

"If  yo've  been  workin'  on  tune  yoh  got  to  get  a  entire 
new  idea  now  that  yoh's  heah  on  tonnage.  Heah  yoh's 
got  to  remembah  that  the  moh  wo'k  yoh  does,  the  moh 
money  yoh  gets.  Yoh's  wo'kin'  now  foh  yohself — just  keep 
a-thinkin'  o'  that  all  the  time.  And  futhamoh,  yoh  can't 
make  good  money  heah  unless  everbody  else  has  exactly 
thet  same  idea.  If  one  fellow  on  the  crew  begins  to  go  slow, 
everybody  that  sees  him  slows  up — 'thout  thinkin',  they 
all  slows  up.  If  they  sees  yoh  goin'  strong,  that  helps  them 
to  go  stronger  and  everbody  makes  moh  money.  It  takes 
time  for  yoh  fellows  from  the  labor  gang  wheah  yoh's  been 
wo'kin'  foh  the  company  to  get  that." 

He's  a  wise  chap.  Such  good  teaching  must  have  come 
from  experience. 

I  did  my  best.    All  the  same  I  was  glad  it  wasn't  yesterday 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN   267 

—the  heater  himself  said :  "They  come  near  havin'  my  hide 
hung  up  here  on  the  furnace  wall  yesterday  with  all  that 
single  iron."  Also  I  thanked  all  the  stars  for  the  eight-hour 
turn. 

"I've  been  around  steel  and  furnaces  for  nearly  twenty 
years,"  said  the  roller,  "and  I  tell  you  I've  worked  mighty 
little  on  the  twelve-hour  turn,  and,  furthermore,  I  wouldn't 
have  anything  to  do  with  it  if  you  gave  me  the  mill." 

He  gets  an  average  of,  say,  twenty-eight  dollars  every 
turn  he  works.  He  has  to  have  experience,  know-how,  lead- 
ership, and  responsibility.  The  rolls  are  sensitive;  a  draft 
of  wind  on  them  may  spoil  a  five-hundred-dollar  investment. 
He's  a  good  leader,  too — and  a  good  leader  is  worth  his 
hire.  It's  a  delight  to  see  the  spirit  and  skill  and  team- 
work with  which  the  crew  do  their  work  rapidly,  yet  keep 
out  of  each  other's  way,  every  man  knowing  just  at  what 
instant  he  must  swing  in  with  his  tongs  and  carry  on  the 
process,  while  the  other  chap,  thus  freed,  turns  and  takes 
the  hot  sheet  from  the  one  farther  down  the  line. 

"Why  a  fellow  who  works  day  after  day  on  the  twelve- 
hour  shift  feels  like  going  home  every  morning  before  break- 
fast and  slapping  his  grandmother !  It's  bad  enough  after 
eight  here  on  the  furnaces,"  the  heater  added. 

I'm  for  a  good  stiff  gait  at  work  that  takes  a  man  to 
stand  up  to  it,  for  a  proper  period,  and  then  be  through. 
Furthermore,  I'm  sure  that  most  workers  would  rather  have 
it  that  way  than  to  take  a  slow,  namby-pamby  gait  for 
a  long  period. 

"The  best  turn  we  ever  had  on  that  gauge !"  he  said  as 
we  washed  up  at  four,  while  the  next  crew  took  off  their 
coats  and  put  on  their  sweat-caps. 

From  five-thirty  on — after  a  trip  into  town  for  supper — 
most  of  the  job  was  to  watch  the  cold-roll  foreman  and  so 
learn  how  to  polish  the  rolls  so  the  day  men  can  start  in 
without  delay.  It  was  misery  to  have  to  keep  awake  after 


268        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

the  day's  exertions  with  the  tongs  and  the  bar — until  the 
boss  said  at  three  that  that  would  be  all  for  the  night,  and 
let  it  be  seen  that  sleep  in  some  corner  was  hi  order.  A 
word  to  the  wise — and  weary ! 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  meet  the  men  in  the  department 
and  to  see  how  much  better  some  of  the  details  of  cold- 
rolling  were  handled  than  in  the  other  plant — especially 
to  learn  that  here  the  management  has  been  wise  enough  to 
call  the  helper  the  "second  catcher,"  and  so  to  let  him  share 
on  the  tonnage  rolled.  Apparently  most  of  my  inner  un- 
happiness  back  there  would  have  been  avoided  if  I  had 
only  been  cold-roll  helper  here. 

At  midnight  and  at  breakfast-time  I  was  too  tired  to  want 
much  at  the  restaurant,  but  did  make  the  error  of  spending 
for  a  meal-book  my  last  two  dollars,  being  perfectly  con- 
fident of  the  arrival  of  the  check  wired  for  to  take  the  place 
of  that  owed  me,  but  not  waited  for,  at  the  last  plant. 

The  shower-bath  in  the  dirty  boarding-house  was  a 
godsend.  No  money  had  been  wired,  but  very  hopefully 
I  got  up  at  noon  and  spent  seventeen  of  my  last  twenty-five 
cents  on  a  malted  milk.  With  only  eight  cents  in  my  pocket 
my  stomach  began  to  inquire  how  about  having  to  do  a 
twenty-four-hour  shift  of  loafing  with  nothing  in  it  to  work 
on.  It  seemed  a  good  chance  to  test  the  idea  I've  always 
had  that  a  man  of  education  and  a  bank-account  could 
always  cash  at  least  a  small  check  on  his  face.  So  I  looked 
up  a  minister,  asked  him  to  keep  the  secret,  told  him  what 
I  was  up  to,  and  offered  documentary  proof  of  my  state- 
ments. 

My  optimism  got  the  surprise  of  its  life !  He  stated  his 
complete  belief  in  the  truth  of  my  statements,  refused  to 
feel  it  necessary  to  look  at  the  documents — and  then  added  : 

"But  every  time  I  have  done  that  I  have  been  deceived, 
so  that  I  have  promised  my  wife  never  to  do  it  again." 

A  banker  whom  he  called  up  seemed  to  think  it  completely 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN   269 

inconceivable  that  he  should  be  expected  to  cash  a  check 
for,  say,  five  dollars  not  as  a  bank  officer  but  as  a  human 
being,  and  similarly  refused  to  look  at  my  documents. 

I  was  sore  to  have  my  pet  idea  busted.  My  nerve 
wavered  at  asking  my  landlady  for  credit,  and  a  full  ex- 
planation would  be  embarrassing.  The  thing  was  getting 
serious — I  was  becoming  very  hungry. 

At  the  telegraph  office  where  I  had  become  a  regular 
hourly  caller  a  young  lady  obligingly  accepted  my  offer  to 
sell  her  three  penny  stamps  for  two  cents.  So  with  these 
two  added  to  my  other  eight  I  paid  a  nickel  to  ride  out  to 
the  plant  restaurant  to  use  my  meal-ticket.  Again  the 
policeman  squashed  my  little  idea,  as  might  have  been 
expected  : 

"Nothin'  doin'  here  Saturday  nights,  young  fellow." 

For  me  it  was  "nothin'  doin'"  but  to  walk  back  to  town 
with  my  fingers  playing  with  my  last  nickel — my  mind  re- 
volving around  the  same  article,  having  apparently  moved 
down  from  under  my  hatband  to  under  my  belt.  I  hoped 
somebody  might  try  to  hold  me  up.  I  was  going  to  offer 
to  go  fifty-fifty  with  him  if  he'd  cash  me  a  small  check. 

Well,  "I'll  say"  that  hunger  and  fatigue  sure  do  make  a 
bad  pair.  At  that,  they  were  for  me  not  so  terrible,  of  course, 
as  for  the  man  who  has  no  idea  when  it's  going  to  end. 
Hunger  I  knew  on  the  cattle-boat,  but  hardly  hunger  and 
fatigue.  The  best  investment  of  my  whole  career  to  date, 
bar  none,  was  a  big  apple  which  the  clerk  handed  me  over 
for  my  final,  ultimate  nickel.  I  Fletcherized  for  the  last  of 
the  two  miles  or  so  into  town,  sent  another  wire  for  money, 
and  in  general  disgust  went  to  bed  empty  of  food  though 
still  hopeful — and  certainly  very  sympathetic  with  the  hun- 
gry and  tired  everywhere. 

In  the  morning  I  succeeded  in  standing  off  my  nice,  quiet, 
and  sweet-mannered  landlady  for  a  breakfast  by  mention- 


270        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

ing  a  letter  "I  expect  today."  (She's  all  right  but  she  con- 
fines her  efforts  to  the  kitchen,  and  husband  is  only  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  that  lady  whose  claim  to  fame  is  that  she 
"chases  dirt.") 

Of  course  one  of  the  serious  sides  to  the  foodless  week- 
end was  that  I  can't  draw  a  check  on  my  alias,  and  might 
get  into  trouble  if  I  told  my  real  name  to  the  landlord. 
This  living  a  double  life  with  two  names  is  not  as  simple 
as  it's  cracked  up  to  be. 

The  boarders  have  taken  me  in  very  well  and  certainly 
do  not  tone  down  their  remarks  about  the  heads  of  the 
town's  plants  for  the  ears  of  any  one.  The  net  deduction 
is  that  "If  they  had  to  try  it  a  few  times  they'd  see  that 
these  long  hours  are  hell,  all  right."  There  seems  some 
difference  of  opinion  as  to  whether  the  workers  can  stand  a 
long  strike,  though  the  majority  seem  to  think  that  the 
present  uncertainty  as  to  strike  or  no  strike  is  worse  than 
the  actuality  could  ever  be.  It  is  evident  that  the  whole 
town  senses  the  seriousness  of  the  situation. 

"Why,"  says  the  landlord,  "even  when  the  railway  strike 
was  coming  off  I  lost  thirty  roomers.  No,  we  don't  like 
strikes — not  after  just  finishing  paying  for  some  new  re- 
pairs." 

I  judge  from  what  I  hear  in  the  stores  that  the  town  people 
agree  that  the  long  day  is  the  chief  thing  which  makes  the 
men  willing  to  join  the  union.  The  hot-mill  men  seem  to 
have  little  interest  in  the  whole  matter  in  view  of  their 
short  turn  and  good  tonnage  pay,  even  though  the  sliding 
scale  on  which  their  pay  is  based  has  forced  a  cut  in  pay  fol- 
lowing the  temporarily  lessened  price  of  sheets. 

It's  pleasant  to  think  that  there  is  no  "bar"  to  drag  or 
rolls  to  polish  until  to-morrow  night. 

Later. — Have  just  chanced  onto  two  workers  with  inter- 
esting results: 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN   271 

"Me?  I  work  no  more  in  steel-plant — so  no  can  strike," 
one  of  them  testified.  He  is  evidently  a  man  of  Slavic 
birth.  "Why?  Well,  like  thees.  Fife  year  ago  I  work 
een  -  —  plant — een  roll  gang.  One  day  I  haf  w'at  you 
call  fit.  For  few  minute  no  can  do  nothing.  Boss  he  see 
me  do  nothing.  He  swear.  I  say:  'Just  minute,  please,  sir. 
Dees  fit  God  send  me — I  no  blame.  Een  one  minute  I  all 
right  again.'  But  he  go  on  swear  and  call  me  name.  Den 
I  grab  bench  and  say  'my  mother  no  dog/  and  he  afraid 
and  say  '  You  fired ! '  And  ever  since  when  I  ask  for  work 
dere  my  name  black  and  no  can  catch  job." 

"You  bet  I'm  going  out  with  the  boys!"  said  one  of  the 
most  skilled-looking  Americans  I  have  seen.  "No,  I've 
nothing  to  gain  myself — I'm  on  eight  hours  and  tonnage — 
and  make  good  money.  But  those  guys  workin'  the  long 
turns  will  need  all  the  help  they  can  get.  For  myself  I 
don't  expect  to  gain  anything — and  may  lose  my  job." 

"Well,  there's  one  thing  I've  got  against  the  company. 
'Twas  nine  years  ago  that  several  of  us  boys  went  and  told 
the  super  of  our  department  we  wished  he  could  cut  out 
the  eighteen-hour  turns  every  other  Sunday.  Seein'  we 
was  on  tonnage  we  was  sure  we  could  do  just  as  much- 
yes,  and  more — without  it:  it  made  us  that  near  dead  the 
rest  of  the  week.  None  of  your  ultimatums,  you  under- 
stand. Just  a  request — a  gentleman's  request.  What  does 
he  do  but  rear  up  and  bang  the  table  and  swear  he's  runnin' 
this  plant,  and  by  the  Almighty  he'll  run  it  as  he  sees  fit — 
and  all  that.  Well,  when  he  comes  it  that  way — you  know 
how  'tis — of  course  we  had  to  rear  up  too  and  call  the  boys 
out.  We  stayed  out  several  months — and  it  was  bad  goin', 
I  tell  you.  And  later  I  got  on  where  the  hours  was  right 
and  worked  up  to  a  good  job  again.  But — well,  I'm  willin' 
to  get  into  this  scrap  just  to  show  that  I'm  for  some  of  the 
boys — even  though  they's  foreigners — that's  still  on  them 
turns — and  under  such  bosses." 


272       WHAT'S  ON   THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

Calumetropolis, 
September  8. 

Guess  I'll  have  to  take  back  what  I  said  somewhere  in 
these  pages  about  living  conditions  not  bothering  much  if  a 
fellow's  good  and  tired.  Just  now  it  looks  as  though  they 
have  a  way  of  crawling  into  a  fellow's  attention  at  just  the 
times  when  he  can  least  stand  to  think  about  them.  Just 
as  a  youngster  of  five  cries  over  annoyances  in  the  evening 
which  wouldn't  bother  him  in  the  morning,  so  a  dirty  board- 
ing-house seems,  somehow,  doubly  dirty  when  you  come 
home  weary  in  the  dawn  from  a  long,  hard,  twelve-hour 
night  turn  and  try  to  blot  it  all  out  as  you  crawl  in  between 
your  sheet — your  one  sheet  and  your  blanket.  It  seems, 
too,  to  take  the  pleasure  out  of  life  to  wake  up  after  only 
a  few  hours'  sleep  and  in  the  broad  daylight  observe  that  you 
are  not  the  only  living  thing  in  your  bed — and  then  to  con- 
sider that  you'd  probably  observe  an  even  larger  numerous- 
ness  of  your  bedfellows  if  it  weren't  for  the  unfair  advan- 
tage of  camouflage  protection  afforded  them  by  the  color 
of  the  blanket  and  the  absence  of  that  second  sheet.  (Ac- 
cording to  report,  cooties  are  common  in  good  society  in 
this  mill-town  in  which  are  so  many  itinerant  workers.) 

As  following  from  much  the  same  cause,  probably,  the 
moral  conditions  are  too  bad  to  describe.  Improvement 
can,  however,  be  reported  for  at  least  the  strictly  local  situa- 
tion— meaning  right  here  in  the  boarding-house,  in  fact  on 
my  own  floor  and  hallway — because  orders  to  vacate  have 
been  given  to-day — a  little  tardily — to  the  two  recently 
arrived  young  women  roomers. 

Whiskey  is  still  available  in  the  back  room  of  any  of  the 
saloons  where  you  are  known,  but  at  prices  which,  as  one 
of  my  heater  friends  put  it,  "  makes  a  good  bun  too  blamed 
much  of  a  luxury." 

The  other  night,  by  the  way,  when  this  heater  had  vis- 
ited more  back  rooms  than  was  good  for  him,  I  had  to 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    273 

keep  whispering  to  him  that  everybody  knew  that  he  was 
one  of  the  best  heaters  in  the  country,  and  that  it  wasn't 
necessary  for  him  to  shout  so  loudly  that:  "Yes,  sir,  I  just 
told  him  that  if  he  could  get  a  better  heater  than  I  was  he 
could  go  and  do  it  and  be  hanged.  Why,  buddy,  that  old 
fool  of  a  melter  knows  that  I  know  more  in  a  minute  'bout 
makin'  steel — special  steel,  y'  understand — than  he  does  in 
a  week.  That's  the  reason  he  won't  promote  me,"  etc.,  etc. 
Apparently  the  attractiveness  of  whiskey  is  that  it  offers 
one  way  of  fulfilling  the  wishes  of  sobriety — a  false  fulfil- 
ment of  those  hopes  which  remain  so  difficult  of  fulfilment 
under  actual  conditions.  In  that  case  the  man  who  drinks 
is  at  least  continuing  to  dream  of  and  hope  for  those  fulfil- 
ments— and  so  to  possess,  still,  something  of  a  mainspring 
or  motive  for  his  upbuilding,  provided  its  escapement  can 
be  better  controlled  and  directed. 

The  mayor  is  said  to  be  doing  his  best  to  make  it  a  good 
town:  schools,  libraries,  "Y,"  street  drinking-fountains, 
pavements,  and  many  such  things  all  point  in  the  right 
direction.  As  nearly  as  I  can  judge,  a  good  deal  of  the 
smoke  from  the  mills  blows  off  into  the  open  country,  but 
some  part  of  it  must  make  a  lot  of  work  for  the  town's 
housewives.  Most  of  these,  however,  seem  to  be  young 
and  strong — though,  from  what  I  can  see  here  on  my  own 
floor  and  windows  and  in  many  of  the  houses  on  the  street, 
I  fear  that  after  a  certain  amount  of  fighting  with  the  dirt, 
an  armistice  is  arranged  in  which  the  dirt  is  granted  con- 
siderable liberty — and  the  housewives  proportionate  peace 
and  leisure. 

On  the  job  last  night  my  boss  broke  me  in  quite  properly 
by  letting  me  do  the  greater  part  of  the  roll-polishing.  It 
is  a  very  dirty  job  and  the  "cold  rolls" — they  get  hot  even 
though  the  metal  goes  through  them  cold — cause  an  enor- 
mous amount  of  sweating  in  such  a  mugginess  as  last  night's. 
In  between  times  I  tried  to  work  out  my  idea  to  make  the 


274        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

work  a  little  easier,  especially  for  the  new  second  catcher. 
After  I  had  brought  him  a  board  on  which  he  could  take  a 
seat  in  his  "spell,"  the  old  roller  who  was  pushing  the  sheets 
to  him  very  fast  asked  me  if  I  couldn't  find  a  cushion.  All 
the  same,  the  young  fellow  was  so  done  up  when  the  whistle 
blew  that  I  doubt  if  he  thinks  the  money  worth  the  effort, 
even  with  the  help  of  my  board.  Besides,  he  was  not  as 
lucky  as  I  was  in  having  in  his  roller  a  boss  who  pulled  out 
his  watch  at  three-thirty,  and  with  as  much  definiteness  as 
if  he  had  heard  the  whistle  blow,  say: 

"Good  Lord!  if  we  do  any  more,  the  day  gang  won't 
have  anything  to  do!  To  the  devil  with  it;  let's  hit  the 
hay!" 

On  the  whole — well,  I  can  think  with  a  fair  degree  of 
equanimity  of  making  to-night  the  last  of  my  nights  on  the 
job,  having  been  at  it  off  and  on  since  January  30,  and  fear- 
ing further  absence  will  make  it  too  hard  to  get  back  and 
think  and  talk  in  ordinary  language. 

This  morning,  by  the  way,  when  I  was  very  tired  and  had 
to  listen,  for  some  reason  or  other,  to  an  especially  out- 
rageous lot  of  blasphemy  and  filth,  I  made  a  note  of  this: 
It  would  have  been  impossible  to  give  any  one  the  feeling 
of  my  conversational  and  other  surroundings  without  bring- 
ing in  a  good  deal  of  profanity,  and  at  least  some  of  what 
might  be  called  vulgarity.  But  if  any  one  thinks  I  have 
come  within  a  mile  of  giving  an  idea  of  the  real  thing,  he 
has  another  think  coming — or,  as  I  suppose  I  should  say,  his 
belief  is  largely  erroneous.  What  I  have  tried  to  pass  over 
should  be  taken  and  multiplied  by,  say,  100 — or,  to  make 
allowance  for  the  presumption  that  all  the  dirt  of  my  present 
surroundings  has  crawled  in  under  my  skin  and  into  my 
system  and  allowed  to  stay  there  by  the  lack  of  sleep  which 
seems  always  connected  with  night-work,  I'll  call  it  50  in- 
stead of  100.  This  revolting  filth  of  speech  is  the  most  dis- 
appointing thing  I  have  found  in  my  travels.  But  I  am 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    275 

still  sure  it  is  connected  with  long  hours  and  with  the  diffi- 
culty a  worker  has  in  expressing  in  his  work  his  individ- 
uality and  in  feeling  himself  progressing — that  together  with 
the  necessity  of  his  showing  himself  as  good  as  the  next 
man  in  whatever  lines  of  competition  may  be  set  up  hi  his 
group. 

Same  Place, 
The  Day  After. 

Packed  and  ready  for  the  train  to  Cleveland — glad  to  be 
able  to  report  my  last  night  on  the  job  as  being  the  stiff est 
of  all;  there's  been  nothing  of  the  "petering  out"  idea! 

Sure  enough  that  second  catcher  failed  to  turn  up  last 
night — he  was  reported  "done  up."  The  first  catcher  was 
on  hand  and  going  strong  until  twelve — I  would  not  have 
had  the  courage  to  urge  him  to  save  himself  because  he  has 
been  on  the  cold  rolls  longer  than  I.  But  at  twelve  he,  too, 
was  all  in  from  the  stiff  pace  his  roller  set  him,  and  a  cold. 
By  that  tune  I  was  well  tired,  too,  from  a  full  six  and  a  half 
hours  of  pushing  the  polishing-stones  onto  the  hot  rolls— 
the  night  was  fearfully  muggy  and  hot.  The  regular  three- 
thirty  knock-off  for  sleep  was  looking  good  to  me  at  twelve- 
thirty  when  I  came  back  from  the  restaurant.  To  my  great 
surprise  I  was  told  that  the  catcher  had  gone  home  and  I 
was  to  take  his  place.  Bluffing  experience  in  that  particular 
way  of  doing  it,  and  without  any  helper,  I  had  to  catch  and 
pile — part  of  the  time  in  very  high  piles — about  ten  tons  of 
stiff,  heavy  sheets  as  they  came  through  the  rolls  as  fast  as 
the  roller  could  push  them.  It  tested  me  to  the  limit. 
When  at  six  the  whistle  finally  blew  for  the  end  of  the  turn 
—for  the  night  and  for  my  long  labor  shift  begun  last  Jan- 
uary!— I  took  off  my  dripping  shirt  and  wrung,  I'd  say, 
close  to  a  small  wine-glass  of  sweat  out  of  it — to  say  nothing 
of  all  that  had  dropped  from  my  face  onto  the  rolls  and  the 
sheets. 


276        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

As  often  before,  I  noticed  how  fatigue  is  partly  muscular 
and  partly  mental — how  thirty  seconds  of  the  sheets  going 
wrong  and  piling  up  and  making  a  fellow  feel  himself  a 
"dub"  and  getting  him  in  bad  with  his  buddy  is  much 
more  tiring  than  thirty  minutes  of  steady-going,  rhythmic 
catch-lift-an  d- throw. 

"Worry  wearies  worse  than  work  " — every  foreman  should 
say  it  fast  and  often.  "Worry  wearies  worse  than  work." 

It  must  be  said  also  that  it  didn't  make  the  work  go  any 
easier  to  think,  as  I  stood  and  dripped  sweat  and  gritted 
my  teeth  to  keep  going  at  the  roller's  speed,  all  that  last 
hour  and  a  half,  that  my  immediate  superior  officer  was 
snoozing  in  his  office  with  the  lights  out !  And  I  didn't  love 
the  company  any  harder,  either,  for  having  no  locker  for 
good  clothes  and  no  shower-bath  to  prevent  my  having  to 
go  with  all  my  sweat-drenched  clothes  out  into  the  rain  and 
darkness  of  the  drizzly  dawn. 

However,  this  company  has  my  respect  for  the  relations 
it  has  established  with  its  men  both  here  and  at  the  other 
plant.  I  doubt  greatly  if  it  has  much  trouble  in  the  ap- 
proaching strike  unless  the  union  members  from  other  plants 
make  it  impossible  for  the  men  here  to  go  to  work.  Further- 
more, I  got  my  money  without  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  this 
afternoon  after  giving  notice  at  twelve  o'clock.  Of  the 
three  of  us  who  were  asked  why  we  were  leaving,  one  said 
he  wanted  to  get  away  and  into  another  line  of  work  before 
the  strike  caught  him.  There's  one  unhappy  boarding- 
house  keeper  already ! 

Have  imported  all  possible  fresh  clothes  from  the  haber- 
dashery and  the  tailors,  piled  them  on  to  white  paper  on 
the  floor,  and  worked  the  shower-bath  to  the  limit.  I  hope 
hard  to  leave  all  my  little  friends  behind.  Nevertheless,  it 
will  probably  be  necessary  to  park  my  baggage  in  the  ga- 
rage before  reporting  to  my  family.  Hardly  what  could  be 


AMONG  THE  INGOTS  AND  BILLETS  AGAIN    277 

called  a  triumphal  return !  But  for  all  that  a  happy  one — 
with  arms  and  shoulders  stronger  and  huskier,  head  saner, 
and  heart,  I  hope,  wholesomer  than  before. 

Later. — Stepping  off  the  sleeper  this  morning,  the  news- 
paper bore  the  headlines  clear  across  its  top: 

"Steel  Strike  Set  for  September  22." 


PART  II 
FINDINGS 


CHAPTER  XI 

SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS 

June,  1920. 

AND  now,  what  of  it  ?    What  does  it  all  mean  ? 

Certainly  the  most  outstanding  impression  of  all  is  that 
I  found  my  companions  in  the  labor  gangs  so  completely 
human  and  so  surprisingly  normal.  It  makes  me  smile  at 
myself  now  as  I  recall  the  air  of  mystery  and  "  different- 
ness"  with  which  my  mind  had  surrounded  all  these  work- 
ers back  there  in  the  days  before  I  started  out  to  join  them. 
I  feel  like  apologizing  to  them  now  for  all  my  wonderings 
as  to  whether  I  could  meet  the  test  of  their  suspicion  or 
the  strain  of  their  possible  misunderstanding  and  probable 
ill  will.  My  only  excuse  is  that  these  same  wonderings 
were  quite  manifestly  in  the  minds  of  practically  all  my 
white-collared  friends  before  I  set  off.  If,  perhaps,  they 
were  also  in  the  minds  of  my  readers  as  well,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly hope  that  the  foregoing  pages  press  this  point  home 
— namely,  that  my  hard-working  associates — my  "bud- 
dies," as  I  now  think  of  them — are  enormously  more  like 
all  the  other  members  of  our  national  House  of  Industry 
and  Life  than  they  are  tmlike  them. 

In  every  room  of  that  house,  also,  all  seem  to  find  life 
just  about  the  same  nip-and-tuck  problem  of  hopes  and 
fears,  satisfactions  and  disappointments,  pleasures  and  an- 
noyances; in  general,  pretty  much  the  same  mixture  prop- 
erly described  as  "this  pleasing,  anxious  being."  Wherever 
found,  too,  these  humans  seem  just  about  equally  ready 
and  anxious  to  tell  about  these  hopes  and  fears,  these  satis- 
factions and  disappointments,  to  any  one  who  will  present 
an  ear  which  is  manifestly  and  sincerely  sympathetic. 

281 


282        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

As  I  look  over  the  experiences  and  testimonies  reported, 
I  find  myself  wishing  that  I  could  add  some  of  the  conver- 
sations held  with  workers  and  others  during  the  months 
following  my  return  to  well-dressed  ways.  For  these,  of 
course,  have  contributed  to  the  final  impressions  without 
being  given  to  the  reader.  Perhaps,  however,  the  reader 
himself  has  recently  heard  such  testimony  as  that  of  the 
elevator  girl  and  her  greeting  to  me: 

"Where  you  been  all  this  time?  .  .  .  Yes,  this  uniform 
ain't  so  bad,  but,  all  the  same,  it's  why  I'm  goin'  to  quit 
to-morrow.  .  .  .  Well,  you  see,  I'm  on  what  they  call  the 
'split  shift' — a  few  hours  on,  then  a  few  hours  off,  and  back 
again.  That  makes  me  change  into  or  out  of  these  clothes 
four  times  a  day.  I  can't  see  it." 

Next  to  this  fundamental  humanness  of  all  of  us,  wher- 
ever we  are,  the  outstanding  impression,  as  I  try  to  marshal 
the  various  experiences  in  single  file  past  the  reviewing- 
stand  of  memory,  is  certainly  this:  the  most  important  fac- 
tor of  all  in  the  life  of  the  wage- worker  is  the  job — the  daily 
job.  For  him  the  day  commences  with  the  breathing  of 
the  prayer,  "Give  us  this  day  our  daily  job."  That  is  the 
only  way  in  which  the  daily  bread  may  be  spelled  with  sat- 
isfaction and  contentment  hi  a  civilization  organized  for 
the  mass  production  required  for  meeting  a  fast-moving 
world's  mass  needs. 

It  almost  makes  me  shiver  with  the  cold  of  those  Febru- 
ary mornings  before  the  great  factory  gates  when  I  think 
of  the  heart-sick  dejection,  the  demoralizing  loss  of  stand- 
ing as  a  man,  and  the  paralyzing  fear  of  the  bread  line  which 
fill  the  mind  and  soul  of  the  man  who,  after  days  of  seeking, 
has  no  job  and  knows  not  where  to  find  one.  This  impres- 
sion has  been  greatly  strengthened  by  many  recent  conver- 
sations, both  with  laborers  and  executives.  Some  of  these 
latter  say  that  they  still  recall  more  vividly  than  anything 
else  the  hours  and  days  and  weeks  back  there  twenty  or 


SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS       283 

thirty  years  ago  in  the  foundry  or  machine  shop,  spent  in 
the  fear  that  a  lay-off  might  be  required  by  the  company's 
business  or  that  discharging  somebody  might  appear  to  the 
foreman  as  the  best  way  for  him  to  ease  his  mind  from  some 
of  his  vexations.  All  that  I  have  seen  or  heard  or  felt  com- 
bines to  make  me  believe  that  it  is  impossible  to  see  the 
world  as  the  worker  sees  it  without  looking  at  it  through 
the  eyes  of  the  man  to  whom  the  need  of  the  daily  bread- 
together  with  the  need  of  the  daily  hope — means  the  need 
of  the  daily  job. 

We  are  quite  likely,  also,  to  miss  the  real  point  when  we 
assume  so  blithely  that  an  overplus  of  men  in  New  York 
can  easily  be  remedied  by  the  reported  overplus  of  jobs  in, 
say,  Chicago.  Unless  the  finding  of  work  and  the  allot- 
ment of  men  to  it  throughout  the  country  is  far  better 
organized  than  at  present,  the  job  in  Chicago  does  precious 
little  good  to  the  jobless  man  in  New  York — especially  if  he 
is  unskilled.  For,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  worker  who 
must  earn  his  living  by  his  naked  as  well  as  untrained 
hands  is  not  likely  to  possess  a  financial  margin  sufficient 
to  bridge  the  distance.  The  paying  or  the  advancing  of 
his  fare  has  its  difficulties  and  involves  considerable  risk, 
especially  for  the  man  of  family.  The  saving  of  fare  by  the 
use  of  the  "side-door  Pullman"  or  by  " riding  the  rods" 
means  the  endangering  of  both  his  body  and  his  morale  by 
exposing  these  to  the  degenerating  irregularity  of  the  hobo, 
or,  as  he  calls  himself,  "the  migratory  worker." 

One  look  at  the  world  through  the  eyes  given  by  this 
daily  need  of  work,  also,  makes  it  immensely  easier  to 
understand  the  worker's  attitude  toward  the  restriction  of 
output — "stringing  out  the  job."  Whether  we  like  it  or 
not,  even  a  short  experience  will  convince  any  one  that  the 
workman  has  considerable  right  to  fear,  as  a  practical,  day- 
by-day  proposition,  that  by  working  too  hard  or  too  well 
he  may  work  himself  out  of  his  job — that  by  producing  too 


284       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

much  he  may  produce  himself  out  of  that  indispensable 
daily  bread.  Especially  to  the  man  hired  by  the  day,  the 
whistle  for  the  end  of  the  turn  may  announce  not  so  much 
the  beginning  of  his  hours  of  rest  as  the  foreman's  "Here 
y'are,  Jo!  This'll  get  your  'time.'  Won't  need  you  to- 
morrow. Work's  all  done" — and  the  beginning  of  that 
hopeless  circuit  of  the  gates  in  search  of  further  opportunity 
to  earn  his  "time."  The  thought  of  even  a  few  weeks  of 
that  is  often  reason  enough  to  make  the  worker  feel  highly 
doubtful  about  the  introduction  of  machinery — very  hesi- 
tant to  accept  the  calm  assurance  of  the  economists  that  he 
need  have  no  fear  because  the  whole  thing  is  bound  to  work 
out  in  the  long  run  through  the  increased  production  and 
the  resultant  cheapening  of  goods.  Naturally  enough,  with 
his  family  on  his  mind,  he  fears  this  "long  run"  may  be 
so  long  that  his  self-respect  may  be  destroyed,  even  though 
starvation  be  avoided,  before  the  slack  is  taken  up.  Still 
further,  there  seems  to  be  general  admission  from  both 
workers  and  executives  that  unexpectedly  large  production 
under  an  attractive  piece-rate  has  often  brought  about  the 
rate's  reduction.  If  that  is  true,  it  is  not  strange  if  the 
worker  often  feels  it  his  duty  to  himself  and  his  friends  not 
to  gamble  too  much  upon  the  permanency  of  the  arrange- 
ment. 

The  understanding  of  this  fundamental  importance  of  the 
daily  job  helps  also  to  an  understanding  of  the  labor-union. 
In  addition  to  its  more  public  appearances,  on  behalf  of 
better  wages  and  hours,  the  union  is  likely  to  be  quietly 
busy  helping  to  find  work  for  its  members  and  then  to  pro- 
tect them  against  unjust  firing,  to  much  the  same  effect  as 
was  mentioned  so  often  in  support  of  the  representative 
committee  there  hi  the  oil  refinery.  It  is  impossible  to 
help  wondering  if  the  unions  would  have  grown  to  anything 
like  their  present  size  if  all  the  managers  who  find  them 
so  serious  a  problem  had  felt  more  keenly  how  seriously 


SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS       285 

this  problem  of  the  daily  job  touches  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  worker.  In  any  event  it  is  beyond  the  slightest  doubt 
that  nothing  like  proper  happiness — and  therefore  proper 
effectiveness — is  by  any  means  to  be  expected  in  the  indus- 
trial world  until  more  thinking  and  more  organization  have 
been  devoted  to  the  increase  of  security  for  the  country's 
working  hands  and  heads  in  this  regard — along  lines  to  be 
suggested  in  later  pages. 

The  recent  months  of  plenteous  jobs  are,  I  am  sure,  not 
at  all  sufficient  to  affect  the  value  of  this  fundamental 
necessity  of  the  job  as  a  keystone  to  the  whole  arch  of  the 
problem  of  industrial  relations.  The  result  of  such  months 
is  merely  to  make  the  restless  situation  worse  by  urging  the 
worker  to  make  good  use  of  the  occasion  to  get  acquainted 
with  the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  as  many  different 
employers  as  possible  during  what  he  is  certain  will  be  only 
a  temporary  period  because  an  abnormal  one.  When- 
next  week  or  next  month — things  begin  to  get  back  to  what 
he  is  convinced  is  their  normal  tightness,  he  will  know 
what  plant  furnishes,  all  things  considered,  the  best  com- 
bination of  the  securities  and  opportunities  he  hopes  for. 
If  a  worker  has  saved  a  little  ahead,  such  an  "  inspection 
tour"  may  be  as  good  an  investment  as  spending  it  in 
loafing  or  on  some  of  the  ordinary  luxuries — especially  if 
in  the  meantime  he  finds  about  as  much  security  at  the 
last  place  as  he  had  originally ! 

It  will  surely  appear  natural  enough  that  the  next  im- 
pression which  marches  in  on  my  memory  is  that  of  tired- 
ness and  the  connection  of  this  tiredness  with  its  unheavenly 
twin,  temper.  Together  these  two  certainly  make  a  vicious 
circle  which  deserves  the  thought  of  all  those  desiring  either 
a  better  industry  or  a  better  and  safer  America.  Tired- 
ness seems  to  cause  earlier  temper  with  hardly  greater  regu- 
larity than  temper,  with  its  inner  friction,  causes  earlier 
tiredness.  Happiness,  either  in  the  plant  or  the  home, 


286        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

appears  to  be  unthinkable  in  connection  with  regular  work- 
shifts  longer  than  ten  hours  at  the  most.  Apparently,  too, 
this  happiness — together  with  good  citizenship — is  impossi- 
ble with  the  long  factory  turns  without  much  reference  to 
the  question  of  the  nature  of  the  work.  One  of  the  most 
violent  denunciations  of  the  twelve-hour  shift  came  from  a 
plant  policeman: 

"Why,  you  guys  that  work  on  the  floor  up  there  hi  the 
open-hearth  can  go  home  and  go  to  bed  and  keep  yourselves 
in  good  shape.  But  when  we  chaps  have  sat  here  all  day 
at  the  gate,  we've  got  to  take  an  hour's  exercise  or  two 
before  turnin'  hi  or  we  begin  to  get  fat  and  slumpy.  This 
twelve  hours  is  the  devil  all  right." 

The  bulk  of  our  iron  and  steel  should  no  longer  be  made 
and  rolled  into  the  heavier  forms  on  the  twelve-hour  day 
and  the  seven-day  week.  For  the  labor  gang  and  for  the 
furnace  men  it  seems  beyond  question  that  management 
must  plan  somehow  to  find  enough  things  for  a  man  to  do 
hi  eight,  or  at  most  ten  hours,  to  justify  the  payment  of  a 
satisfactory  wage  and,  at  the  same  time,  not  too  much  work 
for  the  preservation  of  the  worker's  physical  stamina. 
There  can  be  no  question  in  my  mind  but  that  the  long 
turns  are  uneconomic  and  wasteful  from  the  view-point  of 
plain  dollars  and  cents.  I  shrink  with  proper  shame  when 
I  recall  the  gait  we  workers  took  in  the  moving  of  those 
bricks  from  the  furnaces  or  the  " checkers" — a  gait  that 
required  careful  observation  to  determine  whether  we  were 
moving  or  not.  I  remember,  however,  that  even  that  gait 
sufficed  to  bring  all  the  weariness  that  could  be  borne  either 
by  me,  the  greenhorn,  or  by  my  friends,  the  old-tuners. 
Certainly  all  of  us  grew,  almost  daily,  less  and  less  worthy 
of  the  wages  we  were  paid.  Certainly,  too,  few  if  any  fore- 
men prove  able  to  stand  the  strain  to  the  point  of  such 
loyalty  to  the  company  as  suffices  to  keep  them  awake 
night  after  night.  With  the  long  turns  added  to  the  seven- 


SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS       287 

day  week,  it  just  is  not  humanly  possible.  Whether  fore- 
man or  worker,  such  men  are  paid  for  energies  which  they 
simply  are  not  able  to  deliver. 

If  it  is  true,  as  a  member  of  the  War  Labor  Board  reports, 
that  98  per  cent  of  the  disputes  they  were  asked  to  solve 
simmered  down  finally  to  some  petty  dispute  between  a 
foreman  and  a  man,  then  I  am  willing  to  wager  that  the 
majority  of  this  98  per  cent  would  be  found  to  have  occurred 
when  both  foreman  and  worker  were  just  plain  tired.  Such 
ill  humor,  the  doctors  are  assuring  us,  is  the  one  unfailing 
sign  and  symptom  of  such  tiredness.  Many  foremen,  I  am 
sure,  are  regularly  working  too  long  hours:  in  many  cases 
their  responsibilities  call  for  longer  turns  from  them  than 
from  the  men  under  them.  Indeed,  in  some  cases  it  would 
appear  that  the  whole  organization,  from  the  president 
down  to  <the  humblest  shoveller,  is  pushing  itself  too  hard 
in  order  to  meet  some  emergency  which  is  allowed  to  stretch 
itself  over  the  weeks  and  months  until  every  one  under  the 
plant  roof  is  "on  edge"  and  the  stage  is  set  for  trouble. 

Whether  tiredness  and  temper — T.  &  T. — are  caused  by 
bad  conditions  of  working  or  of  living,  I  am  convinced 
that  they  constitute  an  explosive  which  is  almost  as  destruc- 
tive as  the  "T.  N.  T."  of  warfare  in  its  effects  on  the  firing 
line  of  our  daily  lives  and  along  the  larger  front  of  our 
national  safety  and  development.  "A  man  swears  to  keep 
from  crying;  a  woman  cries  to  keep  from  swearing,"  is  a 
saying  recently  heard  that  substantiates  the  "philosophy 
of  profanity"  originally  set  down  in  explanation  of  the 
"detonations"  encountered  there  on  my  first  long-hour  job. 
The  connection  of  these  "twins"  with  the  sleep-inducing 
virtues  of  the  "whiskey-beer"  of  the  same  town  has  been 
made,  I  think,  sufficiently  plain. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  also,  that  "T.  and  T."  constitutes 
a  serious  menace  to  the  whole  country  in  the  way  it  per- 
suades its  possessor  to  listen  sympathetically  to  the  words 


288        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

of  the  agitator.  Any  one  who  has  carried  these  twins  for 
days  sitting  upon  his  own  body  and  soul  wants  to  counsel 
every  good  citizen  to  beware  of  the  daily  head-lines  which 
blame  all  industrial  difficulties  upon  the  I.  W.  W.,  sower  of 
dissension.  It  would  get  us  all  much  farther  along  if  we 
only  would  inquire  whether  tiredness  does  not  supply  one 
reason  why  these  presumably  happy  and  contented  persons 
listen  as  much  as  they  do  to  those  agitators.  It  is  nearer 
the  whole  truth  to  believe  that  the  agitator  earns,  or  at  least 
works  for,  the  salt  of  his  daily  bread  by  rubbing  it  into  the 
raw  spots  and  sore  spots  which  our  public  opinion  and  our 
industrial  intelligence  allow  to  exist.  Of  such  raw  spots  and 
sore  spots  one  great  and  continuous  cause  is  contributed 
by  these  twins.  It  is  largely  a  needless  and  a  preventable 
cause  because  it  represents  such  low-speed  work  and  such 
high-speed  deterioration.  Democracy  is  not  safe  in  any 
country  where  there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of  tired — 
chronically  tired — men  or,  for  that  matter,  women.  For 
that  reason,  if  no  other,  those  workers  who  want  to  "make  a 
stake"  quickly  either  for  themselves  here  or  their  families, 
or  that  farm  "back  in  old  countree,"  and  so  ask  for  the  long 
turns,  should  be  refused. 

The  problem  of  the  agitator  and  his  hearing  goes  over, 
of  course,  into  the  field  of  ignorance  and  its  opposite  in  edu- 
cation. Even  tired  minds  would  not  give  the  credence  they 
give  to  the  agitator's  false  statements — "For  every  dollar 
you  earn  your  employer  earns  ten,"  or  "You  earn  your  wages 
in  two  hours  of  work,  what  you  earn  in  the  other  ten  or 
twelve  makes  his  profit" — if  education,  inside  the  plant  or 
out,  put  into  those  minds  what  it  should.  The  point  is 
that  the  installing  of  proper  facts  and  information  are  quite 
impossible  when  those  minds  are  chronically  tired.  In- 
deed, almost  all  the  constructive  educational  and  social 
agencies  set  up  by  a  public  which  wants  to  be  helpful  are 
sure  to  fail  of  their  mission  if  they  finally  impinge  upon 


SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS       289 

persons  who  would  be  happy  to  profit  from  them  if  only 
they  were  not  too  tired  to  care.  "Want  of  interest  is  worse 
than  want  of  knowledge"  if  only  because  without  it  knowl- 
edge is  impossible. 

Thus  the  third  impression,  which  marches  out  like  those 
silent  timbers  which  came  forward  from  the  black  corri- 
dors of  the  mine,  is  closely  connected  with  the  second: 
the  worker's  ignorance — the  unskilled,  the  semiskilled,  and, 
yes,  the  skilled  worker's  ignorance — of  the  plans  and  pur- 
poses, the  aims  and  ideals — the  character — of  his  employer, 
the  company. 

This  ignorance  is  not  strange.  The  work  of  obtaining  a 
mutual  understanding  between  the  industrial  manager  and 
the  great  mass  of  workers  who  have  rushed  in  during  the 
last  few  years  from  all  over  the  known  world  for  taking  up 
their  tools  in  our  vast  scheme  of  modern  production,  is 
colossal !  It  takes  one's  breath  away  to  contemplate  it ! 
This  is  especially  true  of  steel,  in  which  America  has  sud- 
denly forged  to  the  front  as  the  producer  of  more  steel  than 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  combined.  This  work,  too,  is  one 
whose  accomplishment  must  necessitate  tune — tune  with  the 
help  of  patience,  and,  most  of  all,  of  sympathy.  Mean- 
while, it  must  be  understood  that  the  great  means  for  that 
mutual  knowledge  which  must  be  added  to  by  mutual  sym- 
pathy to  make  mutual  understanding,  will  grow  immensely 
faster  by  demonstration  than  by  exhortation.  The  seeing  of 
the  thing  done — the  thing  which  actually  happens — this 
constitutes  the  great  primer  by  which  the  minds  of  prac- 
tically all  of  us  learn  the  greatest  lessons.  Statements,  ar- 
guments, logical  exposition,  whether  by  ink  or  breath: 
these  for  virtually  all  of  us  are  mere  foot-notes  on  the  page 
of  practical  instruction  and  learning.  One  or  two,  possibly 
three  or  four,  demonstrations  seen  unmistakably  in  the 
doing  of  our  work  and  taken  into  the  inner  sanctum  of  our 
experiences — these  give  us  our  fixed  ideas  and  attitudes,  and 


290        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

so  supply  the  real  roots  of  our  education.  Perhaps  it  is 
well  that  it  is  so,  otherwise  we  might  believe  the  false  teach- 
ers and  preachers  instead  of  casting  them  out  when  the  dem- 
onstration given  by  their  lives  and  works  fails  to  support 
their  words.  At  any  rate,  the  worker  is  not  to  be  blamed  if 
he  considers  his  driving  foreman  or  that  grouchy  gate  police- 
man or  that  mean-minded  paymaster  or  his  pompous  clerk 
quite  as  fully  and  as  properly  a  representative  of  the  com- 
pany's real  purposes  as  the  solicitous  employment  manager 
or  the  friendly  nurse — or  if  he  sets  the  manifest  waste  of  ma- 
terials off  against  the  company's  narrow  figuring  of  its  wage 
rates.  For  that  reason  it  must  be  granted  that  much  of 
the  distrust  of  great  corporations  is  not  based  so  much  upon 
ignorance  as,  in  too  many  cases,  upon  bad  demonstration. 
Nor  can  the  better  understanding  be  obtained  merely  by 
the  addition  of  truer  demonstrations — unless  the  good-will  is 
really  there  to  be  demonstrated.  The  solution  requires  a 
sincere  purpose  within  the  soul  of  both  parties  in  the  rela- 
tionship and  then  the  conviction  that  every  single  contact 
between  the  two  is  sure  to  be  understood  as  a  revelation 
of  that  purpose.  Especially  in  the  case  of  the  great  con- 
cerns which  now  maintain  these  relationships  under  the 
supervision  of  absentee  management,  a  successful  outcome 
requires  an  amount  of  attention  which  is  nothing  less  than 
tremendous.  Where  the  executive  in  immediate  and  close- 
hand  charge  feels  that  his  sensibilities  in  the  particular  un- 
derstanding of  a  delicate  situation — and  matters  of  human 
relationships  are  never  anything  but  delicate — are  prac- 
tically bound  to  be  rendered  worthless  after  passing  through 
a  thousand  miles  of  postal  communication,  there  is  set  up 
a  hopelessness  and  a  mechanicalness  which  is  sure,  in  time, 
to  dull  those  sensibilities.  Sooner  or  later,  such  dulled  and 
injured  sensibilities,  on  one  side  or  the  other,  are  pretty  likely 
to  mean  the  severed  relations  which,  as  recent  history  proves, 
are  but  the  vestibule  to  war. 


SOME  OUTSTANDING  IMPRESSIONS       291 

For  all  these  reasons  it  is  extremely  superficial  of  us  to 
think  that  we  can  solve  the  problem  of  happy  industrial  re- 
lations or  happy  American  citizenship  for  the  foreign-born 
worker  merely  by  juggling  with  the  phrase  of  "Americaniza- 
tion." The  word  itself  should  be  dispensed  with  because 
it  assumes  so  blithely  that  what  we  have  already  can  profit 
from  nothing  they  can  bring — and  that  whatever  they  bring 
can  be  made  suitable  if  they  will  only  let  us  teach  them 
English  and  show  them  the  street  to  the  court-house! 
No  Americanism  is  worth  our  effort  to  obtain  unless  it  is 
an  Americanism  of  good-will — good-will  built  upon  under- 
standing. And  this  good-will  and  understanding  of  America 
must  be  gained,  after  all,  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  the 
understanding  of  the  company  and  its  purposes — by  de- 
monstration. It  is  for  us,  therefore,  to  look  more  to  the 
demonstrations  of  a  likable  or  unlikable  Americanism  which 
are  given  every  time  a  foreman  commands,  a  judge  in- 
structs, a  salesman  sells,  or  a  newspaper  reports,  assumes, 
or  exhorts.  It  is  idle  to  suppose  that  the  teacher  of  Eng- 
lish is  going  to  make  his  printed  pages  offset  all  the  force 
of  the  demonstrations  of  all  the  other  contacts  which  the 
worker  makes  from  day  to  day  with  all  of  us.  It  is  folly 
also  for  us  to  assume  that  all  our  teachings  must  wait  upon 
his  learning  of  his  English.  There  are  many,  many  things 
which  should  be  gotten  over,  through  his  own  language, 
to  the  worker  whose  years  may  now  be  too  advanced  or 
whose  working  hours  are  much  too  long  to  permit  the  learn- 
ing of  our  tongue  in  time  to  be  of  service  to  us.  In  the 
making  of  these  contacts,  also,  and  especially  if  we  have 
in  mind  his  joining  an  English  class,  we  should  try  to  reach 
the  worker  not  so  much  through  his  friends  and  compatriots 
at  the  plant,  but  through  the  larger  group  of  his  friends  in 
his  particular  settlement  or  colony.  If  we  cannot  by  all 
our  demonstrations  in  all  our  contacts  with  that  colony  and 
its  leader  succeed  in  " selling  America"  so  as  to  have  their 


292       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

combined  good-will  in  the  learning  of  our  ways,  then  per 
haps  we  should  take  a  look  at  our  ways ! 

Of  the  seven  months'  experiences,  these  appear  to  me  the 
outstanding  impressions.  Beneath  them,  and  tying  them 
together  into  the  whole  great  organization  of  modern  life 
and  work,  are  some  deeper  factors  which  should  be  looked 
at  before  we  talk  about  the  way  out. 

.  .  .  Meanwhile  neither  our  classes  nor  our  contacts  will 
be  found  to  " demonstrate"  an  Americanism  which  the  for- 
eign-born worker  is  likely  to  find  attractive  unless  we 
can  first  of  all  come  to  a  deeper  realization  of  that  funda- 
mental humanness  which  makes  him  enormously  more  like 
us  in  all  the  larger  reaches  of  his  thoughts  and  feelings 
than  unlike  us. 


CHAPTER  XII 
SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS 

IN  order  to  make  it  easier  to  think  about  the  industrial 
worker,  it  has  long  been  the  fashion  of  the  philosophers  to 
describe  him  as  the  " economic  man" — interested  in  play- 
ing his  part  hi  the  process  of  production  or  distribution, 
more  or  less  exclusively  for  the  purpose  of  thereby  earning 
his  daily  bread,  and,  with  good  luck  favoring,  his  daily 
jam  and  cake.  "All  he  wants  is  hi  the  pay  envelope,"  so 
more  practical  and  experienced  observers  are  apt  to  voice 
the  same  effort  to  find  an  all-inclusive  rule  of  modern  hu- 
man action.  Such  a  man,  it  goes  without  saying,  will  have 
only  an  incidental  interest  hi  the  nature,  the  hours,  or 
other  conditions  of  his  work,  or  the  character  of  his  fore- 
man, or  his  company,  so  long  as  he  takes  out  of  the  plant 
enough  money  wherewith  to  buy  hi  the  remaining  hours  of 
his  day  the  satisfaction  of  his  real  desires  as  a  person  among 
other  persons. 

This  explanation  of  the  mainspring  of  men's  doings  is 
highly  popular.  To  my  great  surprise  I  found  it  used  quite 
as  much  by  the  worker  for  the  explanation  of  his  employer's 
behavior  and  especially  his  misbehavior,  as  by  the  em- 
ployer for  the  understanding  of  the  worker's  comings  and 
shortcomings.  But  something  must  surely  be  wrong  with 
a  mainspring  whose  effectiveness  is  so  readily  accepted  hi 
the  case  of  the  " other  fellow"  and  so  strenuously  denied 
hi  our  own.  At  the  very  least  an  enormous  amount  of  proof 
ought  to  be  required  in  order  to  substantiate  on  any  uni- 
versal basis  a  theory  which  no  one  can  be  found  willing  to 
admit  for  himself — or  for  any  one  else  except  the  person 
he  does  not  intimately  know. 

293 


294        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

Of  course  the  dilemma  may  be  partly  avoided  by  making 
the  all  but  universal  assumption  that  putting  men  into  the 
group  called  Labor  or  Management  or  Capital  changes 
them  even  down  to  the  bottom  of  their  souls  where  their  life's 
motors  are  set  upon  the  piers  of  their  foundation  desires. 
This  is  the  way  often  taken  to  get  around  the  need  of  com- 
ing to  the  understanding  of  the  other  person's  actions  by 
taking  the  time  to  understand  him.  Of  such  study  the  re- 
sult is  pretty  sure  to  be  the  same  as  that  which  impressed 
itself  after  my  months  at  the  south  pole  of  the  industrial 
world — that  humans  vary  little  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts 
though  they  may  vary  much  in  the  tops  of  their  heads; 
that  of  all  of  us  the  mainsprings  are  just  about  the  same, 
though  different  circumstances  require  different  modes  and 
methods  of  their  escapement. 

For  some  months  I  carried  about  the  conviction  of  the 
enormous  importance  of  the  job  to  the  wage- worker,  as 
though  it  made  him  a  very  different  and  rather  peculiar 
kind  of  chap — till  I  awoke  to  the  realization  that  in  this  in- 
dustrial era  of  ours  the  job  is  almost  equally  important 
to  everybody  else.  After  all,  there  are  exceedingly  few  of 
us  in  this  country  whose  first  concern  is  not  our  job.  For  al- 
most all  of  us  the  most  important  part  of  our  income,  by 
far,  comes  from  the  carrying  of  some  current  responsibility, 
with  serious  trouble  camping  down  very  close  to  us  the 
moment  something  goes  wrong  with  that  source.  Even  the 
industrial  captain  builds  up  his  capital  quite  largely  to  take 
care  of  himself  and  his  family  in  the  days  when  sickness  or 
other  disability  puts  an  end  to  his  yearly  salary  as  the  busy 
director  of  this  enterprise  or  that.  The  chief  dollars-and- 
cents  difference  between  his  job  and  that  of  the  workers 
in  his  factory  is  that  he  is  more  likely  to  be  hired — and 
paid — by  the  month  or  the  year  instead  of  by  the  hour, 
day,  or  week — and  to  have  certain  securities  against  unwar- 
ranted discharge.  Upon  him  as  upon  the  worker  hangs 


SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS        295 

always  heavily  the  fear  of  lessened  income  as  the  result  of 
sickness  or  death — of  joblessness.  His  abilities  and  his 
savings  lessen  the  fear,  of  course,  but  do  not  by  any  means 
eliminate  it. 

Most  of  the  difference,  then,  consists,  not  in  his  being  hi 
the  group  of  management,  but  in  the  size  of  his  margin  of 
security  and  safety — a  margin  given  him  by  his  closer  con- 
nection with  those  who  give  the  job — or  take  it  away — and 
by  the  larger  savings  and  assurances  which  his  larger  educa- 
tion and  earnings  permit.  In  the  work  of  the  Cleveland 
Welfare  Federation  we  spent  large  sums  trying  to  get  the 
people  of  the  city  to  understand  that  the  community's 
poor  were  not  a  fixed  group  or  class  habitually  acting  from 
abnormal  and  peculiar  motives  and  therefore  habitually 
and  permanently  hi  need  of  help.  It  is  this  difference, 
not  of  human  material  but  of  educational  economic  margin, 
which  permits  some  to  save  themselves  while  others,  en- 
countering the  same  obstacle  of  sickness  or  unemployment, 
are  brought  down  to  the  need  of  temporary  help,  just  as 
a  friend  of  mine  reported:  "I'm  getting  old.  Ten  years 
ago  I  could  stumble  and  still  keep  going  for  fifteen  feet  at 
least.  Now  a  stumble  means  a  fall — without  doubt  and 
without  delay." 

The  difference  is  in  the  margins  of  assurance,  opportunity 
and  living  in  general,  allowed  by  the  daily  or  weekly  wage 
instead  of  the  monthly  or  yearly  salary — it  is  this  that  gives 
the  reason  of  the  labor  gang's  intenser  and  more  necessitous 
attitude  toward  the  job,  rather  than  any  or  all  supposition 
that  the  gang  is  made  up  of  humans  possessing  different  in- 
terests and  therefore  wanting  satisfactions  entirely  different 
from  the  rest  of  us. 

During  the  long  hours  of  shovelling  bricks,  lifting  the  steel 
sheets  off  the  cold  rolls,  or  stencilling  the  "  Regular  weights, 
there  now ! "  onto  the  barrel-heads,  it  was  often  a  problem  to 
know  what  to  do  with  one's  mind.  On  some  such  turns 


296       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

I  would  definitely  try  to  make  the  time  go  faster  by  picking 
out  some  particular  field  of  recollection  and  endeavoring, 
hour  after  hour,  to  "lick  the  chops  of  memory"  by  recalling 
every  impression  possible,  for  instance,  on  one  shift  from 
my  travels  in  Italy,  on  another  turn  Egypt  or  South 
America.  At  other  times  I  would  find  myself  swinging  my 
body  in  rhythm  with  the  movements  of  the  job  while  al- 
most chanting  to  myself:  "I  wonder  if  anybody  could  ever 
find  any  connection  between  this  town's  evident  immorali- 
ties and  some  of  the  plant's  evident  dissatisfactions?" 
"Is  there  any  connection  between  the  way  people  earn 
their  livings  and  the  way  they  live  their  lives? — and  if  so, 
do  bad  morals  cause  bad  jobs  or  bad  jobs  cause  bad  morals, 
or  both?"  As  becomes  a  father,  my  fondest  hope  is  that 
the  following  offspring  of  my  long-turn  ponderings  may 
prove  a  more  helpful  interpreter  of  our  modern  industrial 
life  and  all  its  human  units  than  that  offspring  of  the  phi- 
losophers which  ought  to  be  known  as  the  "economic 
alibi." 

Suppose  we  start  at  what  might  be  called  our  "jumping- 
on"  place  there  in  the  shining  land  of  Get-up-in-the-morning, 
and  draw  a  line  through  the  sixteen  waking  hours  of  our 
day  to  the  "jumping-off"  place  there  in  the  shadowy  land 
of  Go-to-bed-at-night.  Such  line  we  may  quite  properly 
call  our  "western  front" — at  least  it  represents  all  the 
opportunity  we  have  for  the  putting  forward  of  all  our  life's 
campaigns,  whatever  and  wherever  they  may  be.  Now, 
from  all  that  I  have  seen  or  heard  all  kinds  of  human  beings 
do  and  say,  it  is  safe  to  assert  that  every  normal  person  pos- 
sesses at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  the  desire  to  find  some- 
where along  this  front  the  satisfaction  that  comes  with  the 
consciousness  of  "breaking  through."  It  is  impossible  to 
conceive  of  any  one  who  would  pass  along  this  front  day 
after  day,  and  year  after  year,  without  getting  anywhere 
some  feeling  that  he  is  making  progress — counting  as  some- 


SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS       297 

thing  more  than  a  cipher  in  the  sum  total  of  humanity — 
and  be  therewith  content.  Such  a  person  is  pretty  certain 
to  be  proved  an  imbecile  or  a  fool — or  else  he  will  be  found 
among  the  unknown  derelicts  at  the  morgue. 

Now,  in  these  recent  days  of  unrest  and  commotion, 
when  fear  gives  birth  to  misunderstanding,  and  misunder- 
standing increases  the  brood  of  fear,  it  is  easy  for  all  of  us 
to  believe  that  the  man  who  is  too  far  off — up  the  line,  or 
down — for  us  to  see  and  know  him,  will  not  be  satisfied  unless 
his  " break-through"  brings  him  into  the  manager's  or  the 
autocrat's  or  the  plutocrat's  chair  of  absolute  power  for  the 
domination  of  the  rest  of  us.  Yet  acquaintance  with  both 
groups  is  sure  to  convince  all  as  it  does  me  that  the  member 
of  the  labor  gang  is  no  more  truly  represented  as  the  father 
of  such  an  extreme  desire  than  is  the  capitalist — though  such 
acquaintance  does  show  that  each  is  willing  to  believe  the 
other  not  only  capable  of  such  a  desire,  but  happy  in  it. 
It  is  immensely  truer  to  the  actuality  to  believe  that  every 
normal  person,  quite  apart  from  his  particular  membership 
in  this  group  or  that  in  the  industrial  process,  is  moved 
to  do  what  he  does  by  the  universal  itch  to  feel  that  some- 
where on  his  life's  front  he  is  justifying  his  existence  among 
other  persons  by  "getting  on,"  doing  a  little  better  than 
merely  holding  on,  while  those  about  him  pass  along.  In 
this  feeling  all  of  us  find  quite  as  much  pleasure  in  beating 
our  own  previous  record  as  in  going  ahead  of  others.  The 
main  thing  is  the  sense  of  motion  and  progress.  When 
the  "high  spots"  of  the  "boss  roller"  or  the  "first  helper"  are 
put  alongside  of  the  successful  banker's  or  manufacturer's 
it  is  odd  to  observe  that  they  all  fit  into  practically  the  same 
formula — each  is  a  high  spot  because  it  serves  to  measure 
their  progress  from  the  point  where  they  started.  It  is  this 
satisfaction  in  the  distance  travelled  rather  than  in  the 
point  arrived  at,  that  permits  millions  of  us  to  have  our  sep- 
arate, individual  satisfactions  without  wanting  to  crowd 


298        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

each  other  out  of  the  pleasure  of  the  same,  or  competing, 
ultimate  destination.  Thus: 

"Well,  yes,  things  have  gone  pretty  well  with  me,"  says 
the  nationally  known  philanthropist,  the  boss  roller,  or  the 
first  helper,  as  he  reaches  expansively  for  his  Havana,  his 
pipe,  or  his  quid,  according  to  station  and  fancy.  "I'll 
never  forget  the  day — and,  yes,  the  hour,  for  I  happened  to 
notice  as  I  went  in  that  it  was  -  -  o'clock — when  the  boss 
sent  for  me  from  out  of  the  labor  gang"  (or  the  office  force, 
or  other  position  without  especial  distinction),  "and  asked 
me  if  I  didn't  want  to  take  a  try  at  -  "  (fill  in  name  of 
next  position  up  the  line).  "Then  I  recall  that  it  was 
just  -  -  years  ago  this  next  month  that  my  new  boss 
proposed,"  etc.,  etc.  (fill  in  all  the  steps  which  indicate 
distance  travelled  from  the  point  of  starting). 

Altogether,  it  is  very  fortunate  that  the  great  majority 
of  us  take  much  more  satisfaction  in  passing  the  "flivvers" 
of  our  past,  or  the  truck  loads  of  our  slow-moving  associates, 
than  we  take  dissatisfaction  in  the  thought  of  the  limousines 
still  ahead  of  us  and  still  unpassed  on  the  road  of  life  and 
progress.  All  things  considered,  we  could  hardly  hope  for 
progress  from  anything  less  selfish  or  for  self-preservation 
from  anything  less  progressive. 

Now  I  am  convinced  that  the  daily  wage-worker  wants, 
to  an  even  greater  extent  than  the  rest  of  us,  to  find  his  high 
spots  and  locate  his  break-through  in  the  sector  of  his  job. 
For  one  thing,  the  narrowness  of  the  margin  between  the 
daily  job  and  the  daily  bread  means  that  what  he  does  in 
the  hours  under  the  plant  roof  determine  more  narrowly 
what  he  may  do  elsewhere,  than  does  the  nature  of  our  work 
for  the  rest  of  us;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for  in  a 
world  built  on  jobs,  all  of  us  must  adapt  ourselves  first  to 
the  conditions  which  we  must  meet  for  the  earning  of  our 
living,  and  then,  with  what  we  have  left  of  time  and  at- 
titudes and  interests,  set  about  the  living  of  our  lives.  If 


SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS       299 

the  worker  is  still  on  the  long-hour  day,  all  this  can  be 
figured  out  in  minutes  to  make  plain  the  immense  necessity 
of  getting  the  utmost  of  personal  satisfactions  out  of  his 
working  time. 

That  means  that  the  worker  lives  and  moves  and  has  his 
being  there  on  the  job.  There  is  where  the  tire  of  his  life's 
wheel  meets  the  smooth  or  jagged  roadway  of  actuality.  But 
still  more  important  than  that,  he  finds  there  in  the  precise 
nature  of  his  job,  skilled  or  unskilled, ^important  or  unimpor- 
tant, and  in  the  relationships  it  provides,  the  most  impor- 
tant means  of  establishing  his  status  and  standing  as  a  man 
and  a  citizen — and  the  status  and  standing  of  his  wife  and 
children.  Thus  the  oil-can  or  the  wrench  spells  progress 
upward  from  the  shovel,  quite  beyond  the  two-cents-hourly 
income.  Thus,  too,  the  promotion  out  of  the  gang  to  the 
humblest  foremanship  is  certain  to  mean  not  only  more 
money  for  a  wider  margin  of  enjoyments  and  securities, 
but  also,  and  much  more  important,  the  envious  congratula- 
tions of  the  gang,  the  familiar  acceptance  as  a  comrade  at 
the  hands  of  others  heretofore  far  above  him,  and,  finally, 
those  gossipy  noddings  of  heads  at  the  club  or  the  lodge 
which  are  the  incense  burned  before  the  altars  of  progress 
and  success.  It  is  only  the  great  distance  of  most  of  us 
from  such  events  that  permits  us  to  miss  the  hugeness  of 
these  steps  as  they  appear  from  the  view-point  of  the  labor 
gang.  It  is  this  hugeness  that  causes  many  workers  to  lose 
their  heads — certainly,  at  least,  the  natural  size  of  their 
heads — the  moment  they  find  themselves  thus  elevated — 
and  so  perhaps  inclined  to  drive  their  former  " buddies" 
with  less  consideration  than  that  shown  by  those  who  never 
were  in  the  gang. 

Now  in  view  of  all  this,  the  most  fundamental  criticism 
I  know  how  to  make,  in  regard  to  the  present  industrial 
situation,  is  this:  that  in^the  minds  of  so  many  members 
of  the  labor  gang,  and  also  of  higher  groups  of  workers, 


300       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

there  is  so  wide-spread  and  so  deep-set  a  conviction  that 
for  them  there  is  no  chance  to  break  through  on  their  industrial 
sector! 

It  must  be  evident  to  those  who  have  read  this  diary  that 
while  the  matter  is  two-sided,  nevertheless,  considerably 
more  justification  than  could  be  wished  is,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  given  that  conviction.  The  trouble — the  most  mani- 
fest trouble  at  least — is  in  that  " first  line  of  defense"  which 
is  maintained  there  at  the  contact  points  on  the  line  by  in- 
dustrial management  hi  the  person  of  the  boss  or  foreman, 
the  plant  guard  or  policeman,  and  the  plant  paymaster  and 
his  clerks.  If  the  break-through  is  to  be  engineered  on  the 
sector  of  the  job,  it  must  inevitably  be  hi  the  presence, 
and  with  the  permission  and  recognition,  of  one  or  more  of 
these  representatives  of — and  of  parts  of — the  management. 
Through  these  the  workers  must  get  those  daily  demonstra- 
tions of  the  plans  and  purposes  of  all  the  other  "lines." 
There  would  seem  to  be  no  way  by  which  management  can 
avoid  the  responsibility  for  whatever  impression  the  workers 
gain  of  its  performance  and  intentions  as  the  result  of  those 
demonstrations — nor  any  effective  denial  that  that  impres- 
sion as  a  whole  is  considerably  less  satisfactory  than  could 
be  desired. 

Whether  justified  or  not,  this  conviction  that  on  this 
sector  no  satisfying  feeling  of  gain  or  progress  is  to  be  made 
in  proportion  to  effort  required — that  "pull"  and  the  marry- 
ing of  the  boss's  daughter  must  be  counted  on  for  getting 
forward — produces  the  same  result  in  the  factory  as  it  would 
on  the  fields  of  France  and  Flanders.  When  Foch  or  Haig 
became  convinced — rightly  or  wrongly — that  successful 
pressure  could  not  be  hoped  for,  strategy — and  the  neces- 
sity to  keep  moving — required,  of  course,  the  transfer  of  the 
effort  to  another  sector.  So  to-day,  when  the  worker  be- 
comes, in  any  way,  convinced  as  the  result  of  a  few  deadly 
demonstrations,  that  employers  as  a  group  are  unwilling  or 


SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS  301 

unable  to  reward  initiative,  loyalty,  and  skill,  he  changes 
his  tactics.  Leaving  behind  just  enough  energy  and  skill 
to  keep  "the  enemy"  from  "breaking  through"  and  dis- 
charging him — and  he's  a  wonderful  judge  of  the  precise 
amount  needed  for  this  purpose — he  withdraws  the  reserves 
of  his  interests  and  enthusiasms  for  more  effective  and 
worth-while  application  elsewhere. 

Like  all  the  rest  of  us,  the  worker,  it  is  worth  repeating, 
carries  into  the  other  sectors  of  his  living  the  equipment  he 
is  able  to  take  out  of  his  job.  So  here  again  he  suffers  from 
the  narrowness  of  his  margins.  If  he  is  untrained  he  must 
daily  put  a  larger  proportion  of  his  entire  physical  equip- 
ment— in  his  case,  his  entire  capital — into  his  daily  givings 
for  the  benefit  of  the  needed  daily  gettings  of  the  family's 
food  than  do  the  most  of  us.  Unskilled,  skilled,  or  semi- 
skilled, if  he  makes  iron  or  steel  the  chances  are  that  he 
must  put  in  an  average  of  twelve  of  those  sixteen  waking 
hours — with,  in  most  cases,  an  additional  hour  and  a  half 
or  two  to  go  and  come. 

The  result  is  not  favorable  to  such  a  worker's  finding  in, 
say,  the  sector  of  his  home  the  sought-for  satisfactions  of 
forward  movement  and  distinction.  That  is  certainly  evi- 
dent from  the  most  casual  reading  of  the  foregoing  pages. 

Over  into  the  sector  of  his  relationships  as  a  citizen,  simi- 
larly, many  a  worker  can  take  only  a  depleted  physique 
and  an  unsatisfied  hope.  Some,  however,  do  "stand  the 
gaff"  of  even  the  hardest  work  and,  perhaps  with  the  help 
of  a  sense  of  humor  or  a  determined  will,  endeavor  here  to 
find  the  distinction  of  leading  those  around  them.  I  am 
quite  sure  that  these  are  often  the  men  whose  manifest 
ability  to  influence  others  comes  to  the  attention  of  the  all 
too  common  plant  detective  or  "under-cover  man" — with 
the  result  that  they  may  be  reported  as  potentially  danger- 
ous workers.  In  too  many  instances  such  a  report  is  likely 
to  lead  to  the  "planting"  of,  say,  a  bottle  of  wh'iskey  in 


302       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

the  man's  clothes,  with  the  later  discovery  of  it  by  the 
secret  planter,  who  in  horror  at  such  outrageous  breaking 
of  the  plant  rules,  lands  the  offender  on  the  street,  jobless 
and  sore,  ready  to  believe  that  his  manhood  requires  his 
personal  direction  of  a  continuous  war  against  the  indus- 
trial and  economic  arrangements  which  permit  such  injus- 
tice. I  have  reason  to  believe  that  such  men  are  not  happy 
in  their  capacity  as  leaders  of  the  war — that  they  would  be 
enormously  happier  if  they  could  find  there  in  the  plant 
and  on  the  job  the  opportunity  to  enjoy  the  sense  of  con- 
structive leadership — which,  of  course,  remains  unattain- 
able until  the  hurt  that  honor  feels  has  been  assuaged.  It 
is  strange  that  so  many  managers  who  themselves  get  great 
pleasure  from  their  membership  in  some  committee  of  the 
local  Chamber  of  Commerce  find  it  so  difficult  to  under- 
stand the  wish  of  some  of  the  workers  to  enjoy  similar  dis- 
tinction in  their  world  under  the  plant  roof. 

Into  the  final  sector  of  their  miscellaneous  relations  as  a 
person  come  great  numbers  of  workers  who  realize  their 
position  at  the  base  of  modern  industry,  yet  who  have 
found  nowhere  else  in  home  or  club  or  lodge  any  milestone 
of  distance  travelled  from  the  starting  point  of  personal 
insignificance.  Here  is  their  final  chance.  Of  such  men 
their  profanity,  I  am  persuaded,  is  intended  to  convince 
their  hearers  that  they  themselves  remain  unconvinced  of 
the  inferiority  which  their  present  job  may  indicate — in 
much  the  same  way  that  a  child  assures  you  of  his  "I  don't 
care!  I  don't  care!"  when  his  toys  are  taken  from  him. 
In  addition,  he  can  hope  for  a  certain  distinction  among  his 
pals  by  giving  the  requisite  attention  to  the  luridness  and 
daring  of  his  blasphemies.  Of  such  men,  too,  their  boast- 
ings of  their  "fifteen,  sixteen  w'iskee-beer"  are  also  calcu- 
lated to  impress  themselves  and  their  friends  with  the  re- 
markable carrying  or  staying  powers  of  then*  physical 
manliness.  For  many,  further,  the  certainty  with  which 


SOME   DEEPER  FACTORS  303 

drunken  ears  are  able  to  hear  the  assurance  of  their  owner's 
achievements,  past,  present,  or  future,  makes  it  worth  while 
to  indulge  in  the  cup  which  congratulates  as  well  as  inebri- 
ates— congratulates  because  it  inebriates.  The  old  machin- 
ist who  used  the  bartender's  dispensations  to  "get  the  feel- 
in'  of  my  old  position  back  like,  you  know,"  and  the  melter 
in  the  Western  steel  town  for  whom  the  "hard  stuff"  almost 
instantly  recalled  the  days  when  he  was  discharged  because 
"the  boss  he  knowed  I  knowed  more  'n  a  minute  about 
steel  than  he  did  in  a  month,"  as  well  as  the  hobo  who  used 
his  whiskey  as  protection  against  the  bugs  and  flies — all 
these  and  others  support,  sorely,  this  proposition  that  the 
worker's  bottommost  desire  is  to  find  the  chief  basis  of  his 
belief  in  himself  there  in  his  work,  and  that,  failing  this,  he 
endeavors  in  all  the  other  parts  of  his  living  to  make  the 
necessary  adjustments. 

Yes,  I  am  convinced  that  there  is  a  connection  between 
the  town's  jobs  and  the  town's  morals — or  immorals. 
Through  the  hours  of  the  morning  on  the  new  job  or  in  the 
evening  after  supper  at  the  boarding-house,  we  would  feel 
each  other  out  and  do  our  best  to  impress  each  other  with 
our  "high  spots"  just  as  do  two  bond  salesmen  at  the  club 
or  two  society  leaders  over  their  tea-cups.  This  job  and 
that,  and  its  importance,  this  promotion  and  the  other, 
especially  this  occasion  or  that  when  the  worker  showed 
that  he  understood  his  job  better  than  did  his  foreman — 
these  are  men's  "talking  points"  as  they  try  to  "sell" 
themselves  to  each  other;  these  are  the  things  they  hold 
onto  all  their  lives.  The  sad  thing  is  that  with  so  many 
workers  the  stock  of  these  high  moments  runs  out  so  quickly 
—with  the  resultant  drawing  on  the  reserves  of  this  or  that 
drinking  bout  or  this  or  that  conquest  of  the  other  sex.  In 
the  wealth  of  detail  in  the  features  of  that  conquest  it  is  all 
too  easy  to  see  that  here  at  least  the  narrator  feels  that  he 
has  proved  that  if  fortune  had  only  gone  differently  he 


304       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

might  have  shown  himself  an  outstanding  salesman,  or  if 
fate  had  only  handed  him  a  dress  suit  instead  of  a  pipe- 
wrench,  the  world  might  have  been  the  better  for  a  real 
statesman!  Instead  of  believing  that  vice  is  the  over- 
whelming of  the  spirit's  forces  by  the  body's,  we  would 
come  much  nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  matter  if  we  dis- 
cerned in  vice  the  energies  of  both  body  and  soul  combined 
in  an  assault  upon  all  the  forces  that  oppose  men's  having 
life  and  having  it  more  abundantly.  The  harm  of  it  is  that 
the  assault  secures  the  hoped-for  sense  of  victory — the  in- 
dispensable sense  of  victory — only  because  it  is  made  at 
the  weakest  spot  in  the  line — and  so  proves  fleeting,  false, 
and  degrading. 

So  that  first  line  of  defense  does  more  than  lessen  men's 
interest  to  break  through  on  the  job.  It  increases  by  the 
same  amount  the  pressure  to  find  on  some  weaker  sector 
the  gam  that  will  justify  a  proper  self-respect.  When  all 
the  fields  have  one  after  the  other  been  entered  and  ex- 
plored, there  must  somewhere  be  found  experiences  and 
satisfactions  which  will  make  the  whole  enough  like  the 
normal  and  average  life  of  the  normal  average  human  to 
be  properly  called  "wholesome" — else  a  man  may  not  call 
himself  a  person.  It  is  the  fault  of  all  of  us  to  a  greater  or 
less  extent  if  this  craving  for  wholesomeness  requires  many 
men  to  vibrate  back  and  forth  across  the  line  of  the  normal 
— as  from  a  restrictive  job  to  a  short  but  furious  high  spot 
of  a  vacation  in  order  to  feel  that  these  extremes  average 
into  a  fairly  passable  holding  of  the  line. 

This  "wholesomeistic  person"  is  interested  in  the  pay 
envelope,  but  most  of  all  he  wants  it  to  help  him  find  in  his 
work  the  justification  for  feeling  himself  a  man  because  of 
what  he  does — a  man  because  a  workman,  a  workman  that 
need  not  be  ashamed.  Much  wrong  we  do  him  when  we 
assume  that  nothing  will  satisfy  him  except  the  manage- 
ment and  ownership  of  the  entire  enterprise.  That  assump- 


SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS       305 

tion  binds  our  hands  because  it  blinds  our  eyes  to  the  high 
desirability  of  changing  his  whole  life  as  well  as  his  attitudes 
and  convictions  by  changing  the  possibilities  for  his  normal 
satisfactions  on  his  job.  That  change  requires  not  only 
the  improving  of  the  foreman  and  the  others  he  sees  as  the 
company,  but  also  the  lessening  of  the  fear  of  joblessness, 
the  ill  humor  of  fatigue  and  the  ignorance  of  the  deeper 
motives  of  his  associates  in  the  whole  industrial  proceeding. 

The  harm  that  all  these  do  is  done  because  they  so  vitally 
affect  men's  feelings.  Built,  all  of  them,  upon  the  bottom 
wish  to  consider  ourselves  self-contained,  self-controlled, 
and  worthy  personal  units  in  the  world,  it  is  our  feelings 
that  lead  us  all  to  the  release  of  all  our  energies.  Our  think- 
ings give  us  our  facts  and  the  logical  connections  between 
them.  Our  feelings  enable  us  to  set  a  value  on  those  facts 
and  connections.  All  the  yeast  in  the  world  gives  bread 
no  value  until  the  feelings  of  hungry  humans  speak  and 
the  arms  of  hungry  humans  reach.  Short  experience  will 
convince  any  one  that  it  is  impossible  to  overstate  the 
influence  on  these  infinitely  delicate  scales  within  us  of  a 
few  days  or  weeks  of  joblessness,  a  few  months  of  fatigue, 
or  a  few  years  of  the  conviction  that  the  company  doesn't 
care  and  that  doing  the  job  "don't  get  you  nowheres." 

So  long  as  human  beliefs  and  attitudes  are  so  slightly  the 
result  of  thinkings  and  so  largely  the  result  of  feelings  of 
hope  and  fear,  fatigue,  disappointment,  pride,  so  long  will 
it  be  worth  while  to  see  the  cause  of  any  man's  abnormal 
beliefs  and  attitudes  in  whatever  abnormal  conditions  may 
surround  his  job.  And  here  it  must  be  noted  that  the 
normal  conditions  of  a  decade  ago  may  become  abnormal 
to-day,  because  they  have  remained  while  others  changed 
—as  when,  for  instance,  other  industries  shorten  their  day 
and  leave  one  or  two  to  continue  with  the  long  turns. 

"You  take  the  best-trained  and  mildest-mannered  lion 
imaginable — the  result  of  a  life-time's  careful  handling — 


306       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

and  in  five  minutes  of  bad  treatment  which  rubs  him  all 
the  wrong  way,  you  can  drive  him  back  into  a  wild  beast — 
and,  perhaps,  keep  him  there  for  life !" 

In  these  words  an  expert  trainer  puts  well  another  ex- 
tremely important  difference  between  feelings  and  think- 
ings. Ask  a  man  how  long  he  has  possessed  such  and  such 
an  idea  and  you  can  make  a  rough  judgment  as  to  the 
probable  difficulty  of  disproving  it.  But,  by  its  intensity, 
the  emotion  of  an  instant  may  prove  more  effective  than 
others  which  have  been  possessed  for  years.  Thus  a  few 
months  or  even  years  of  plentiful  jobs  do  not  by  any  means 
cross  off  those  feelings  of  despair  which  burn  themselves  in 
on  the  soul  during  a  few  months  or  weeks  of  unemploy- 
ment— as  in  1913-14,  and  to  a  less  extent  in  1919.  Thus, 
also,  many  employers  and  many  union  members  find  it 
quite  impossible  to-day  to  discuss  each  other  without  a 
heat  which  badly  warps  the  straightness  of  their  thinking, 
perhaps  as  the  result  of  attitudes  forged  in  the  heat  of 
intense  emotions  years  and  years  ago. 

"Well,  you  see,  he  was  the  leader  of  the  union  durin' 
the  strike.  A  fair-minded  man  he  was — and  a  decent  strike 
it  was,  at  the  start.  But  finally  the  company  orders  every 
family  out  of  all  its  houses — in  eighteen  hours  everybody's 
gotta  be  out,  y'understand.  Well,  his  wife,  two  days 
later,  had  a  baby — when  they  was  campin'  out — an'  died. 
He's  been  what  ye  might  call  a  company-fighter  ever  since." 
This  was  the  report  of  a  famous  radical  given  me  there  in 
the  second  mine  town. 

"No,  I've  never  believed  in  the  fairness  of  the  worker  or 
the  unions  since  the  time  they  went  out  on  us  after  we  had 
treated  them  the  best  we  knew  how  for  years,"  was  the 
way  an  employer  told  of  his  own  hurt.  "And  they  all 
acknowledged  that  they  had  no  complaint!" 

"Well,  what  can  we  do?"  said  the  workers  in  very  much 
the  same  situation  in  another  city.  "If  we  don't  go  out 


SOME  DEEPER  FACTORS  307 

the  boys  where  they  haven't  got  the  advantages  we've  got 
can't  win.  If  we  lose  our  jobs  we  can  still  keep  our  friends 
and  live  in  the  town  here,  but  if  we  refuse  to  help  our  bud- 
dies make  their  fight,  then  we  can't  go  on  living  here — that 
is,  'thout  bein'  called  yellow.  What's  the  answer?" 

Each  is  trying  to  solve  his  problem  in  the  way  that  allows 
him  to  feel  himself  true  to  what  he  decides  is  his  highest 
loyalties.  Yet  each  fails  to  see  the  conditions  under  which 
the  other's  choice  must  be  made.  And  each  is  certain  that 
the  other's  action  is  made  plain  by  that  "economic"  for- 
mula of  the  philosophers. 

All  of  which  means  that  in  the  world  of  human  energies 
the  " relativity  of  motion"  holds  as  true  as  any  Einstein 
may  demonstrate  for  the  world  of  natural  forces.  If  all  of 
us  stood  still,  then  all  of  us  could  stand  contentedly  and 
"save  our  face"  in  standing.  It  is  when  war  makes  the 
unskilled  worker  into  a  munitions  producer  and  puts  him 
up  the  line  out  of  his  place  that  those  who  have  not  moved 
forward  feel  that  they  have  in  actuality  been  moved  back, 
and  are  therefore  unhappy.  By  the  same  token  the  profi- 
teer is  felt  to  have  moved  backward  all  those  who  would 
otherwise  be  perfectly  content  to  feel  that  they  had  shared 
with  others  the  universal  set-backs  of  war  times  and  condi- 
tions. In  the  same  way,  too,  men  feel  it  proper  to  desire 
more  progress  in  the  way  of  better  jobs  after  returning  from 
the  fields  where  so  much  blood  was  shed  that  all  men  might 
travel  farther  into  life  and  more  abundant  life. 

As  long  as  all  these  feelings  for  forward  movement  nor- 
mally express  themselves  first  of  all  in  the  form  of  pressure 
there  on  the  earn-a-living  sector,  it  behooves  us  to  guard 
and  protect  them  from  every  influence  that  disturbs  them, 
unless  those  influences  are  found  to  be  absolutely  insepara- 
ble from  the  industrial  process. 

Such  disturbance  as  is  to-day  caused  by  the  fear  of  job- 
lessness, fatigue,  and  ignorance  constitutes,  I  am  certain,  a 


308       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

very  serious,  costly,  and  needless  brake  upon  both  the  self- 
respect  and  the  effectiveness  of  our  workers  and  fellow- 
citizens  hi  our  basic  industries — added  to  by  the  further 
commotion  caused  by  the  war's  upsetting  of  old  standings 
and  statuses.  Before  this  latter  can  be  ended  it  will  be 
necessary  for  all  to  feel  that  something  like  the  old  relative 
positions  and  opportunities  for  the  same  relative  motions 
forward  have  been  re-established,  with  the  bottommost 
moved  up  so  as  to  meet  the  more  particular  measurements 
and  requirements  of  a  more  democratic  world.  The  process 
is  trying.  The  very  disturbance  and  commotion  puts 
people  throughout  the  country  into  the  same  touchy  mood 
that  followed  my  sleepless  bed  and  crowded  kitchen  in 
the  first  mine  town,  because  all  these  things  reach — and 
roil — feelings  even  though  they  may  not  affect  thinkings. 
Thereby  the  gap  is  widened.  If,  then,  the  precise  formula 
needed  to  bridge  the  gap  comes  not  instantly  to  the  lips, 
feelings  are  sure  to  be  hurt,  relations  become  strained  or 
broken — if,  indeed,  the  war  is  not  on  the  instant  declared. 

But  as  long  as  men  will  fight  oftener  to  save  then-  face 
than  to  feed  their  stomach  progress  is  assured — as  long,  at 
least,  as  the  public  and  the  determiners  of  the  conditions  of 
industry  understand  the  vastness  of  the  forces  which  men 
carry  in  their  souls  and  the  delicacy  of  then*  control,  and 
then  arrange  properly  for  the  release  of  those  forces. 

A  word  or  two  about  such  arrangements  and  we  shall  be 
done. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  WAY  OUT— AND  MANAGEMENT 

IP  my  opinions  thus  far  are  in  general  sound,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  those  who  determine  the  conditions  under  which 
a  man  earns  his  living  determine  thereby  pretty  much  the 
conditions  under  which  he  lives  his  life.  This  would  seem 
to  be  supported  by  the  fact  that  the  whole  circle  of  present- 
day  political  and  social  as  well  as  economic  varieties  of 
unrest  unconsciously  seek  correction  by  attacks  not  on  the 
social  or  political  but  on  the  industrial  sector.  By  the 
strategy  of  the  most  practical  and  pressing  necessity  thus, 
as  well  as  by  the  logic  of  our  line  of  thought,  the  challenge 
of  the  whole  range  of  our  modern  life  comes  to  be  deposited 
on  the  doorstep  not  so  much  of  the  owners  of  industry  as 
of  its  managers. 

I  am  sure  that  most  of  the  thinking  and  feeling  which  is 
going  on  at  the  top  of  the  great  industrial  organizations  is 
good  enough  to  deserve  better  expression  on  that  first  line 
of  contact.  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  this  better 
expression  will  be  worth  all  the  effort  or  money  it  may  cost 
to  secure  it.  The  average  foreman's  failure — at  least  in 
the  fields  I  visited — to  obtain  the  worker's  desire  to  co-op- 
erate would  be  a  matter  for  smiling  if  it  were  not  so  serious 
a  drain  upon  the  whole  industrial  process.  The  number  is 
surely  large  of  those  workers  who  must  smile  in  their  sleeves 
when  they  think  how  easy  it  is  to  let  a  foreman  suppose 
that  they  are  giving  all  they  have  when  as  a  matter  of  fact 
they  have  merely  calculated  to  a  nicety  the  amount  required 
to  save  them  from  immediate  joblessness.  Such  an  artistic 
appearance  of  labor  without  its  actuality  is  sure  to  be  the 

309 


310       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

result,  whether  the  worker  dislikes  the  boss  or  distrusts  the 
company.  In  either  case  the  company  is  sure  to  pay  the 
bills — though,  of  course,  they  are  passed  on  to  the  con- 
sumer in  the  cost  of  production.  Nothing  is  surer  than 
that  the  company's  and  the  public's  bill  for  this  failure  of 
the  foreman  is  colossal. 

The  foreman  who  fails  to  get  the  good-will  and  respect 
of  his  workers  is  pretty  likely,  also,  to  fail  to  make  good 
use  of  the  slender  energies  they  do  release.  But  it  will 
always  be  difficult  to  get  either  persuasive  or  intelligent 
foremen  for  the  handling  of  men  on  the  long  turns:  tired 
workers  require  too  much  heat  in  their  driver's  mouth  to 
favor  much  light  in  his  mind.  When  the  shorter  hours  are 
put  in  force,  management  will  make  a  most  costly  error  if 
it  does  not  exchange  this  driver  for  a  leader  with  the  ability 
to  use  for  the  best  good  of  the  company  the  energies  he  can 
interest  his  men  to  release.  Besides  huge  inefficiency,  mur- 
der itself  is  likely  to  occur  if  the  old  type  of  foreman  tries 
to  continue  his  old  tactics  with  men  no  longer  too  weary  to 
hope  for  the  satisfactions  of  self-respecting  work  and  accom- 
plishment. 

The  need  of  lessening  the  foreman's  right  to  discharge  a 
man  at  will  without,  perhaps,  withdrawing  it  completely, 
hardly  needs  statement.  Larger  security  on  the  job  is  the 
first  requirement  for  safeguarding  the  worker's  self-respect. 
The  better  expression  of  company  interests  by  plant  police- 
man and  paymaster's  office  also  needs  no  argument. 

But  it  must  not  be  assumed  by  any  means  that  the  cause 
of  the  faulty  expression  lies  wholly  hi  these  officials  and 
then*  shortcomings.  Just  as  the  worker  learns — or  thinks 
he  learns — about  the  company  by  this  or  that  demonstra- 
tion staged  by  the  foreman,  the  guard,  or  the  paymaster's 
clerk,  so  the  foreman  must  guess  the  kind  of  manner  and 
message  he  must  pass  on  down  the  line  only  by  the  demon- 
stration of  it  he  sees  in  the  actions  of  the  men  just  above 


THE  WAY  OUT— AND  MANAGEMENT     311 

him.  Without  doubt  the  worker's  wholesale  and  hard- 
working explanation — "Aw,  he's  afraid  he'll  lose  his  job!" 
— is  all  too  often  the  true  diagnosis  of  the  foreman's  con- 
duct. He  cannot  be  expected  to  "put  himself  in  the  work- 
er's place"  unless  he  can  be  sure  that  he  doesn't  lose  his 
own  place  by  so  doing!  And  quite  possibly  the  fault  is 
not  so  much  in  the  factory  manager  or  superintendent 
above  him  as  in  the  general  manager  above  him — or  the 
vice-president  or  president  or  chairman  of  the  board  above 
him  !  The  labor  gang,  I  am  persuaded,  is  far  from  being 
the  only  place  where  men  sigh  to  be  given  a  greater  chance 
to  "turn  themselves  loose"  without  being  rapped  by  a 
superior  on  the  knuckles  of  their  initiative.  That  better 
expression  on  the  first  line  of  contact,  therefore,  cannot  be 
expected  to  favor  larger  satisfactions  in  the  job  until  more 
"chiefs"  assign  responsibilities  to  all  their  associates  as  did 
one  I  have  much  in  mind: 

"And  finally  this:  Don't  bother  to  tell  me  how  you  pro- 
pose to  get  the  results  we  have  agreed  upon.  That's  your 
job,  not  mine.  But,  in  case  your  delivery  of  these  results  is 
interfered  with  by  obstacles  which  you  cannot  move  but  I 
can,  then  have  in  mind  that  I  try  to  earn  my  salary  by 
sitting  here  with  the  door  open — waiting  for  you." 

If  such  words  serve  to  send  an  executive  out  of  the  door 
with  his  head  high  and  his  heart  resolved  to  give  its  ut- 
most, there  is  small  reason  why  their  spirit  cannot  be  ex- 
tended clear  down  the  line.  At  any  rate,  only  when  that 
is  done  will  industry  know  something  of  the  efficiency  of 
the  willing  bird  which  flies  farther  than  the  thrown  stone. 
Meanwhile,  this  plan  and  that  for  solving  the  labor  problem 
is  discussed  for  weeks  and  months — while  the  foreman  con- 
tinues to  judge  that  he  had  better  make  his  own  job  a  little 
surer  by  passing  in,  as  his  own,  the  valuable  suggestion  of 
one  of  his  gang,  and  then  the  "super"  judges  that  he  had 
better  make  a  little  surer  of  his  place  by  passing  it  on  to 


312       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

his  superior  as  his !  And  no  one  can  question  the  wisdom 
of  their  judgment  until  he  knows  how  deeply — or  how  super- 
ficially— the  president  and  the  board  of  directors  have 
thought  about  this  matter  of  getting  men  to  do  their  best. 

It  will  be  recalled  that  the  finest  shower-baths  I  met  were 
in  the  refinery  for  the  use  of  the  men  under  the  control  of 
the  only  person  I  have  ever  had  the  least  desire  to  murder ! 
To  the  same  effect  is  the  general  understanding  that  a  com- 
pany known  recently  to  have  inaugurated  profit-sharing 
continues  to  employ  foremen  who  make  the  workers  pay 
them  for  their  jobs ! 

These  words  are  not  meant  to  discourage  the  initiation  of 
plans  and  devices  for  the  bettering  of  conditions  and  rela- 
tions. The  point  is,  that  these  must  not  be  expected  to 
lessen  by  one  jot  the  necessity  for  fab-ness  and  squareness 
in  all  the  relationships  of  the  entire  establishment — nor, 
similarly,  the  necessity  for  improvements  which  save  sweat 
and  strain  directly  on  the  job  where  the  work  is  done — as  in 
the  case  of  the  heavy  sheet-bar  there  by  the  pair  heater's 
furnace.  Instead  of  hoping  to  build  a  relationship  of  friend- 
iness  by  means  of  the  service  or  employment  department's 
restaurants,  clubs,  badges,  etc.,  the  purpose  must  rather 
be  to  help  the  entire  organization  to  carry  up  and  down, 
without  obstruction,  all  the  impulses  which  may  be  con- 
tributed by  any  at  the  top  or  at  the  bottom  which  are 
calculated  to  increase  the  effectiveness  of  any  for  the 
benefit  of  the  whole.  In  these  days  of  the  multiple-unit 
enterprise,  management  is  failing  to  offer  to  all  kinds  of 
workers,  at  top  and  bottom  and  in  between,  the  assurances 
of  a  break-through  that  will  be  proportional  to  effort  be- 
cause it  is  failing  to  give  proper  thought  to  the  develop- 
ment of  those  spiritual  forces  of  its  persons  which  are,  after 
all,  its  final  resources;  and  to  the  effective  projection  of 
these  into  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  organization. 


THE  WAY  OUT— AND  MANAGEMENT      313 

That  can  hardly  be  accomplished,  though  it  will  be  helped, 
by  a  few  classes  for  foremen.  That  can  also  not  be  accom- 
plished by  foremen  or  workers  or  executives  who  are  sup- 
posed to  be  kept  at  their  best  by  the  fear  of  dismissal,  in- 
stead of  by  the  hope  of  increased  opportunity  and  security. 

A  discouraging  feature  to-day  is  the  number  of  executives 
who  depend  entirely  for  their  knowledge  as  to  whether  the 
projection  of  their  interests  and  ideals  actually  reaches  to 
the  labor  gang,  upon  the  highly  prejudiced  testimony  of  the 
foreman  or  the  highly  unreliable  report  of  the  " inside  man," 
who  makes  his  living  by  deception  and  who  stands  to  lose 
his  job  the  moment  he  fails  to  disclose  a  certain  amount  of 
trouble  and  unrest  around  him. 

The  result  is  that  the  worker's  ignorance  as  to  the  real 
heart  and  purposes  of  his  employer  is  equalled  only  by  the 
employer's  ignorance  of  the  real  wants  of  his  workers.  If 
it  were  not  so,  more  employers  would  have  confidence  to 
ask  the  workers  themselves  to  tell  them  what  is  on  their 
minds — and  then  see  that  nothing  happened  to  them  for 
telling.  One  reason  why  this  is  not  done  more  generally 
in  industry  is  that  the  manager  is  inclined  to  miss  this 
point  of  the  importance  of  feelings  and  so  to  rely  upon  his 
thinkings.  Especially  if  he  was  once  a  worker,  he  is  likely 
to  think  that  his  reasoning  powers,  by  which  he  believes 
he  has  built  up  his  business,  will  tell  him  what  the  worker 
wants  even  better  than  the  worker  himself  can  do  it.  The 
result  is  fairly  certain  to  bring  later  disappointment  to  him 
and  soreness  to  the  men.  He  should  hang  on  his  walls 
the  "Eleventh  Commandment,"  "Thou  Shalt  Not  Take 
Thy  Neighbor  for  Granted.7' 

Another  reason  for  delaying  so  long  the  asking  of  the 
worker  for  his  opinion  in  matters,  not  perhaps  of  finance  or 
sales,  but  of  the  job  and  its  conditions,  is  fear — fear  that 
the  worker  will  take  advantage  of  the  occasion  merely  to 


314       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

put  more  into  that  pay  envelope.  But  except  under  con- 
ditions which  appear  to  him  to  justify  a  sense  of  injustice 
or  distrust,  the  most  his  self-respect  will  permit  him  to 
ask  for  is  whatever  represents  at  one  and  the  same  time 
the  best  interests  of  the  company  and  of  himself.  Where, 
therefore,  this  spirit  of  reasonableness  is  not  hi  evidence, 
management  will  do  well  to  seek,  and  seek  diligently  and 
deeply,  for  the  abnormal  conditions  or  relationships  which 
are  sure  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  such  abnormal  and  unreason- 
able feelings. 

In  this  collective  dealing — whatever  may  be  its  particular 
form — the  worker,  if  he  is  young,  wants  a  larger  opportunity 
to  show  what  he  can  do — with  the  assurance  that  it  will  get 
him  some  kind  of  proportionate  recognition.  If  he  is  old,  he 
wants  a  larger  security  for  the  holding  of  his  job  and  his  place 
in  the  line  of  job  importances  and  standings.  In  both  con- 
nections he  has  something  to  give  in  return  for  these  gains. 
He  knows  the  exact  amount  of  energy  he  puts  into  the  job 
and  how  much  he  might  put  into  it — also  how  much  more  he 
could  make  what  he  puts  hi  count,  if  somebody  would  make 
it  worth  his  while.  In  one  company  now  finding  that  it  can 
pay  better  wages  and  still  make  steel  more  cheaply  on  the 
short  day  than  on  the  old  long  turns,  the  men  have  helped 
largely  to  this  end  by  contributing  of  their  store  of  this 
knowledge  of  the  job.  As  a  result  this  job  or  position  on 
the  furnaces  or  rolls  has  been  eliminated  and  that  one 
has  been  combined  with  another  for  the  saving  of  a  man. 
Another  thing  the  worker  can  give  is  his  understand  ing  of 
some  of  the  difficulties  of  management — and  his  resultant 
increased  respect  for  management's  inability  to  work  out 
all  matters  to  everybody's  instant  satisfaction.  Of  such 
understanding  in  these  days  of  restless  labor,  freight  tie-ups, 
and  tight  money,  management  needs  all  it  can  get  from  any 
one  but  most  from  the  worker. 


THE  WAY  OUT— AND  MANAGEMENT     315 

It  might  be  claimed  that  the  worker,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
ought  to  want  more  than  this  for  which  he  feels  willing  and 
able  to  give  return.  But  with  a  larger  chance  to  enjoy  the 
satisfactions  of  a  steadier,  better  job,  with  less  stealing  of 
these  satisfactions  by  the  foreman,  he  will  be  found  to  grow 
hi  ability  and  capacity  to  the  same  proportionate  degree 
that  the  rest  of  us  grow  under  the  same  stimulus — namely, 
the  necessity  of  "making  good"  by  successfully  meeting, 
one  after  another,  the  responsibilities  of  our  jobs.  To  an- 
ticipate without  fear  the  gradual  development  of  a  partner- 
ship based  upon  the  development  of  abilities  and  capacities 
requires  nothing  but  mutual  confidence  in  the  fairness  of 
each  side.  Such  fairness  any  one  is  certain  to  find  easy  of 
expectation  who  has  taken  the  trouble  to  add  to  his  belief 
in  the  fundamental  wish  of  the  average  manager  to  play 
fair  the  further  belief  of  the  worker  to  base  his  own  self- 
respect  upon  the  same  honest  foundation.  Each  group  must 
have  a  certain  amount  of  consideration  in  understanding 
that  the  other  is  sure  to  be  having  its  own  troubles  in  mould- 
ing the  actions  of  all  its  members  into  that  consistency  of 
performance  which  is  required  to  establish  the  kind  of 
character  that  begets  confidence.  The  shortcomings  of 
this  kind  that  exist  in  the  past  of  both  groups  complicates 
enormously,  it  goes  without  saying,  the  possession  of  either 
this  expectation  or  consideration  unless  they  can  be  can- 
celled off  against  each  other. 

All  of  which  means  that  there  can  be  no  easy  way  out  of 
the  industrial  problem.  The  reason  is  that  that  problem  is 
a  problem  of  relations  between  persons  all  of  whom  are 
daily  forming  and  reforming  their  attitudes  and  hopes  and 
beliefs  and  wants  and  faiths  and  fears  on  the  basis  of 
what  they  see  or  think  they  see,  what  they  think,  and  es- 
pecially what — and  then  doing  their  best  or  their  worst 
accordingly — they  feel.  For  which  reason  it  is  difficult 


316       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

enough  to  work  out  satisfactorily  the  relations  between  two 
perfectly  friendly  and  perfectly  expectant  and  considerate 
individuals.  Naturally  enough  it  is  sure  to  be  enormously 
more  difficult  to  work  them  out  between  great  groups  all 
of  whom  are  bound,  more  or  less,  by  their  group  loyalties, 
their  economic  necessities,  and  their  economic  and  physiolog- 
ical margins — to  say  nothing  of  the  further  difficulties  of 
comparatively  sudden  gatherings  together,  strange  con- 
fusions of  tongues,  and  feelings  that  require  that  interpreta- 
tion which  often  serves  only  as  a  ''compound  fracture  of 
speech  followed  by  mortification."  In  such  circumstances, 
it  behooves  each  group  to  look  with  such  forgiving  eyes 
upon  the  inconsistencies  of  the  other's  behavior  as  it  would 
wish  to  have  the  other  look  upon  its  own.  Both  must  face 
the  demand  for  better  collective  morals  before  they  can  ex- 
pect success  as  either  corporations  or  as  unions. 

These  necessities  and  restrictions  mean,  for  one  thing, 
that  there  cannot  possibly  be  enough  promotions  to  go 
around,  even  when  management  equips  itself  to  recognize 
ability  wherever  it  discloses  itself.  But  not  all  workers 
want  promotion.  An  immensely  greater  number  do  want 
to  have  a  better  idea  of  what  the  job  is  for.  Huge  num- 
bers work  year  after  year  making  parts  of  machinery  with- 
out ever  seeing  the  completed  whole  of  which  they  have  the 
right  to  feel  themselves  the  co-producers  and  co-creators. 
Greater  knowledge  of  its  service  to  others  makes  my  job 
better  because  more  important.  And  the  possession  of  a 
better  job  to-day  than  yesterday  entitles  me  to  think  of 
myself  as  a  better  man.  Luckily  industry  is  awakening  to 
the  importance  of  this,  as  in  a  factory  where  movies  are  used 
to  explain  why  a  motor  works  to  the  workers  who  day 
after  day  make  the  motor's  parts.  Along  such  lines  there 
are  almost  endless  opportunities  for  increasing  the  work- 
er's understandings  and  abilities  without  requiring  the  larger 


THE  WAY  OUT— AND  MANAGEMENT      317 

imagination  called  for  in  the  more  theoretical  classes  unre- 
lated to  the  job. 

Better  jobs  and  steadier  jobs,  less  tiring  jobs,  jobs  whose 
human  service  is  better  understood,  jobs  with  a  better 
chance  to  enjoy  the  satisfactions  of  their  doing  without 
these  being  lessened  by  a  grasping  foreman  representing  an 
unknown  employer:  this  is  what  the  worker  wants  more 
than  he  wants  to  sit  in  the  chair  of  the  manager  or  clip  the 
coupons  of  the  owner. 

The  challenge  should  not  be  too  much  for  the  American 
executive.  Certainly  he  will  find  a  greater  satisfaction  and 
perform  a  greater  service  in  the  meeting  of  it  than  ever  he 
has  known  before.  A  few  decades  ago  the  mass  needs  of 
the  world  called  for  the  mass  production  of  the  great 
corporation.  The  need  was  met  by  the  executive  who  was 
trained  in  the  assembling  and  marshalling  of  the  dollar  in 
armies  large  enough  to  supply  the  power  of  massed  finance. 
After  him  came  the  leader  who  possessed  the  ability  to  de- 
velop and  direct  men's  desires  and  demands  in  a  way  to 
furnish  the  organized  mass  sales  required  for  the  mass  pro- 
duction made  possible  by  the  massed  dollars.  He  in  turn 
has  been  followed  by  the  expert  scientifically  trained  to 
secure  the  refinements  in  mass  production  which  massed 
demand — and  competition — made  possible  and  necessary. 
This  executive  still  has  some  distance  to  go  before  we  can 
talk  legitimately  about  that  science  of  industry  which 
stands  for  the  organized  knowledge  of  the  natural  forces  it 
employs.  To-day  the  interests  of  the  owners  of  the  dollars 
which  created  the  plant,  and  the  originators  and  possessors 
of  the  desires  and  needs  which  keep  the  plant  going,  have 
the  right  to  ask  that  the  present-day  executive  give  deeper 
thought  toward  developing  that  art  of  industry  which  will 
stand  for  the  organized  emotion  of  its  human  factors 
and  forces — organized  and  applied  in  ways  which  will  at 


318       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

one  and  the  same  time  meet  most  effectively  the  needs  of 
both  the  makers  and  the  users  of  goods,  both  the  performers 
and  the  receivers  of  services. 

But  if  the  manager  is  to  meet  this  challenge  of  bringing 
about  a  better  America  by  means  of  better  jobs,  he  has  the 
right  to  ask  the  co-operation  of  his  customers  in  ways  which, 
finally,  are  worth  mentioning. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE   PUBLIC 

RECENT  events  throughout  Christendom  are  calculated  to 
make  plain  the  interest  of  the  public  in  this  problem  of 
the  relations  between  those  investors  of  brawn,  brains,  and 
bullion  who  comprise  industry.  To  this  interest  the  public 
is  not  hesitating  to  give  voice  in  the  form  of  its  demand 
that  ways  be  found  whereby  these  relations  can  be  com- 
posed with  less  general  inconvenience  and  annoyance.  This 
demand  is  not  likely  to  be  satisfactorily  fulfilled  until  the 
makers  of  it  see  that  it  involves  certain  serious  responsibili- 
ties. 

One  of  the  most  outstanding  of  these  appears  to  me  to 
be  the  organization  of  machinery  for  getting  the  worker  and 
the  job  together.  Both  industry  and  the  public  have  to 
pay  too  high  a  price  in  the  shape  of  the  wasted  opportunity 
of  the  unmanned  job  and  of  the  injured  morale  of  the  job- 
less man  to  allow  the  getting  of  the  two  together  to  remain 
in  the  hands  of  the  employer  who  likes  to  have  forty  men  at 
his  gate  for  every  five  jobs,  the  union  which  may  similarly 
wish  to  juggle  the  market,  or  the  job  agent  who  puts  money 
in  his  pocket  every  time  one  of  his  patrons  is  hired — and, 
by  the  same  token,  fired.  Nor  can  this  function  be  per- 
formed well  by  a  government  department  which,  in  the 
nature  of  the  case,  is  compelled  to  favor  the  worker  more 
than  the  work  itself  or  the  employer.  This  is  practically 
the  situation  of  the  Department  of  Labor  according  to  the 
terms  of  its  establishment. 

There  should  be  no  reason  why  that  department  and  the 
Department  of  Commerce  could  not  jointly  be  authorized 

319 


320        WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

to  set  in  motion  an  interstate  employment  bureau  which 
would  facilitate  the  transfer  of  men  from  one  part  of  the 
country  to  the  other  without  the  over-emphasis  of  one 
group's  interests  or  the  over-centralization  of  authority 
which  hobbled  the  recent  federal  bureau. 

Beyond  doubt  such  a  joint  bureau  should  ask  and  receive 
the  support  of  manufacturers,  workers,  and  public  in  mak- 
ing at  once  a  study  of  all  the  obstacles  hi  the  way  of  the  max- 
imum regularity  of  operation  of  all  industries.  In  such  reg- 
ularity the  wish  of  the  owner  meets  the  wish  of  the  manager 
and  the  worker :  all  want  steady  work,  whether  for  their  dol- 
lars, machinery,  and  plant,  their  directing  abilities,  or  the 
energies  of  their  hand  and  arm  and  head.  Without  doubt, 
too,  such  a  study  would  not  get  far  without  seeing  that  the 
public  has  a  chance  to  play  a  large  hand  hi  aiding  this 
desired  regularity,  or  in  insisting  that  men  shall  not  work 
themselves  out  of  their  jobs.  It  is  well  known  that  extremes 
of  style  tend  to  overwork  men  and  women  part  of  the  year, 
and  then  to  out-of-work  them  a  larger  part.  Seasonal  buy- 
ing of  such  things  as  coal  naturally  puts  upon  both  produc- 
tion and  distribution  the  same  strains  of  rush-hour  peak 
loads — with  the  consequent  depressions — that  daily  env 
barrass  the  transportation  systems  of  cities.  This  strain 
seems  to  grow  rather  than  diminish  as  the  users  of,  for  in- 
stance, railroad  or  manufacturing  supplies  tend  to  come 
together  into  larger  and  larger  aggregations  of  buying  power. 
Such  aggregations  present,  however,  the  means  for  securing 
the  hoped-for  improvement  with  greater  ease,  when  once 
the  solution  of  the  problem  is  seriously  approached.  Such 
aggregations  and  government  could  also  co-operate  to  make 
the  hobo  no  longer  necessary  by  fitting  seasonal  jobs  together 
in  ways  to  avoid  the  need  of  migration. 

Whether  unemployment  insurance  as  operated  in  other 
countries  is  to  be  considered  or  not,  there  is  no  question 
but  that  such  a  study  of  the  obstacles  is  desirable  in  itself 


THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE  PUBLIC        321 

from  every  point  of  view  before  the  public  can  think  in- 
telligently of  getting  at  both  of  these  corner-stones  of  the 
whole  industrial  problem — the  getting  together  of  the  man 
and  the  job,  and  the  keeping  of  them  together  as  long  as 
is  efficiently  possible.  If  government  cannot  represent 
the  public  interest  in  this  way,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  some 
group  of  enlightened  employers  may  set  about  it  in  an  un- 
prejudiced and  scientific  manner,  with,  if  possible,  the  co- 
operation of  their  workers. 

The  most  important  result  of  such  studies  and  the  or- 
ganization that  would  follow  them  for  increasing  the  regu- 
larity and  the  security  of  the  job  would  be  this:  it  would 
force  the  foreman  and  the  whole  managerial  organization 
to  abandon  the  all  too  general  practice  of  capitalizing  the  fear 
of  joblessness,  and  to  organize  for  getting  a  much  greater 
co-operation  from  the  workingmen  by  means  of  a  constant 
appeal  to  their  faith  in  the  surety  of  reward.  Until  some 
such  fundamental  change  as  this  is  made  there  can  be  but 
futile  talk  about  the  moral  or  progressive  values  of  good 
character  in  connection  with  the  relations  between  industry's 
persons  either  as  individuals  or  as  groups.  Without  this 
change,  furthermore,  industry  will  remain  far  behind  educa- 
tion, religion,  and  salesmanship,  all  of  which  have  in  our 
day  substituted  for  their  old  appeal  to  fear  of  punishment 
or  penalty  the  appeal  to  hope,  and  faith  in  a  proportionate 
reward. 

It  is  a  question  whether  any  plan  such  as  that  of  the 
second  industrial  conference  will  serve  to  inform  public 
opinion  as  well  as  one  organized  to  give  to  all  the  facts  of 
industry  a  continuous  and  unprejudiced  study  and  inter- 
pretation without  waiting  until  the  situation  is  acute  and 
those  hi  the  middle  have  come  to  share  the  prejudices  and 
biases  of  one  side  or  the  other.  But  many  plans  will  doubt- 
less be  found  worth  trying  and  will  be  certain  to  contribute 
some  bit  of  guidance  to  the  better  step.  The  main  thing  is 


322       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

for  the  public  to  realize  that  all  its  protestations  of  the 
paramountcy  of  its  interest  in  the  matter  will  not  avail  to 
secure  serious  influence  for  its  opinions  unless  these  opinions 
are  free  from  the  bias  of  feelings  and  are  based  upon  real 
understanding — an  understanding  as  far  removed  as  possible, 
for  instance,  from  the  almost  total  ignorance  with  which  the 
public  continues  to  treat  the  strikes  of  the  steel  workers,  the 
soft-coal  miners,  and,  perhaps  to  a  less  extent,  the  railway 
men.  In  short,  the  public's  right  to  an  effective  view-point 
in  this  matter  will  require  it  to  think  less  about  the  relations 
between  capital  and  labor  and  to  know  immensely  more 
about  capital  and  about  labor. 

Such  an  informed  understanding  would  start  at  once  to 
break  down  the  present  tendency  to  roll  together  the  inter- 
ests of  about  400,000  manufacturers  and  of  about  30,000,000 
workers  into  the  charming  but  highly  deceptive  simplicity 
of  "capital  and  labor."  Those  thousands  of  manufactur- 
ers are  making  tens  of  thousands  of  different  kinds  of  things, 
meeting  tens  of  thousands  of  different  kinds  of  problems 
as  put  up  to  them  by  millions  of  different  buyers  of  their 
goods  and  services.  Still  vaster  is  the  extent  of  the  prob- 
lems of  the  wishings  and  wantings  and  standards  and  be- 
liefs and  prejudices  and  necessities  and  luxuries  of  all  those 
thirty  millions!  Most  of  our  misunderstandings  come 
from  taking  too  much  for  granted — missing  the  perspec- 
tives which  make  the  nearer  view  so  simple.  Looked  at 
from  a  distance,  the  differences  between  the  foreman  and 
the  member  of  his  gang,  between  the  millwright  or  the 
rigger  and  the  laborer,  seem  slight.  "Out  of  work!"  we 
are  apt  to  say.  "How  can  that  be  when  I  can't  get  men 
to  mow  my  lawn?"  The  truth  is  that  the  public  cannot 
do  a  better  and  more  valuable  thing  for  itself  and  the  coun- 
try than  to  exercise  all  its  power  to  make  sure  that  the 
millwright  may  never  find  it  necessary  to  ask  for  the  chance 
to  mow  that  lawn !  For  him  to  do  so  would  deal  a  cruel 


THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE  PUBLIC        323 

blow  against  that  self-respect  upon  which  the  public  must 
depend  to  keep  him  at  his  bench  every  working-day,  an 
upright,  forward-looking,  and  sincere  worker  and  citizen. 
For  days  after  he  takes  the  job  of  a  common  laborer  he 
will  not  be  able  to  hold  his  head  among  the  friends  with 
whom,  after  years  of  work  and  ambition,  he  now  has  the 
standing  that  goes  to  the  possessor  of  skill  with  tools.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  a  wider  breach  between  the  skilled 
and  the  unskilled  laborer  than  between  " labor"  and 
"capital." 

It  is  the  thread  of  self-respect  and  standings  and  statuses 
running  through  all  these  differences  that  ties  the  world  of 
modern  society  together.  It  is  impossible  to  overstate 
either  the  delicacy  of  this  thread  or  its  crucial  importance 
to  the  whole  great  organization  of  present-day  working  and 
living  and  enjoying. 

We  give  to  the  dollar  altogether  too  great  an  importance 
when  we  consider  it  the  cause  either  of  men's  industry  or 
their  intrigue,  their  virtues  or  their  vices.  The  dollar  is 
merely  an  especially  convenient  and  simple  means  for  facili- 
tating the  measurement  of  a  man's  distance  from  the  cipher 
of  insignificance  among  his  fellows.  If  it  does  not  serve 
that  end  it  is  not  sought  beyond  the  narrow  limits  required 
for  the  daily  bread — as  in  the  mine  town,  where  "  conspicu- 
ous leisure"  proves  more  valuable  to  this  end  and  so  causes 
loafing  hi  exactly  the  same  way  that  the  standing  which  the 
dollar  can  buy  for  the  mine  owner  or  operator  in  the  big 
city,  with  its  fine  houses  and  limousines,  brings  him  down 
diligently  on  time  every  day  to  his  desk.  Beyond  a  certain 
point,  dependent  upon  the  standings  and  statuses  which 
the  dollar  can  buy  in  the  community,  the  increase  of  wages 
is  thus  quite  as  likely  to  lessen  as  to  increase  effort. 

Those  who  are  sure  that  the  dollar  causes  the  harms  of 
modern  life  will  be  disappointed  to  see  those  harms  con- 
tinue if  ever  private  profit  is  done  away  with.  Without 


324       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

bothering  first  to  get  the  money  as  now,  men  will  still  go 
on  trying  to  make  their  particular  jobs  and  the  importance, 
skill,  and  usefulness  of  them  in  comparison  with  other  jobs 
represent  the  particular  degree  by  which  they  as  citizens 
are  moving  forward  from  their  earlier  and  less  trained  and 
less  important  selves,  or  at  least  holding  their  own  in  com- 
parison with  others.  As  long  as  human  needs  must  be 
met  by  the  doing  of  jobs,  these  jobs  will  be  the  real  criterion 
of  character  and  worth,  of  applied  serviceableness — the  real 
means  of  indicating  a  man's  importance  to  others  and  of 
understanding  their  importance  to  him.  And  as  long  as 
they  are  such,  men  will  do  deeds  as  base  to  get  the  chance 
to  indicate  their  standing  through  them  as  they  do  now  in 
order  to  obtain  the  additional  and  easily  calculated  mani- 
festation of  importance  made  possible  by  money.  German 
military  and  civil  life  was  not  appreciably  better  than  ours 
when  the  guests  sat  down  at  table  according  to  the  degree 
of  nearness  to  the  Kaiser  denoted  by  the  job  given  by  their 
government. 

So  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  no  need  to  try  a  new  sys- 
tem of  society.  I  find  myself  less  a  socialist  than  ever; 
the  whole  thing  seems  too  vast  and  yet  too  delicate  to  put 
into  the  hands  of  a  committee.  What  we  need  to  do — and 
at  once — is  to  apply  more  insight  to  the  working  of  the 
system  already  in  existence  this  long  while.  Any  system 
will  tie  itself  together  only  with  the  strength  and  certainty 
of  the  cord  with  which  it  can  tie  men's  givings  to  their  get- 
tings,  their  wan  tings  to  their  havings,  their  presents  to  their 
futures.  In  any  system  the  investor  of  money,  of  mana- 
gerial mind,  or  of  effective  muscle  will  get  out  of  the  whole 
process  of  industry  what  he  wants  for  his  givings  only  with 
the  silent  understanding  and  co-operation  of  all  of  us.  As 
workers  used  to  call  my  attention  to  this  or  that  "demon- 
stration" they  were  noticing  as  to  what  "gets  a  fellow 
somewhures"  and  what  does  not,  I  found  myself  wondering 


THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE  PUBLIC        325 

whether  amongst  any  of  us  there  could  be  any  such  thing 
as  character  or  virtue  except  as  we  could  believe  that  the 
fulfilment  of  certain  conditions  of  performance  would  with- 
out fail  bring  at  some  later  date  the  enjoyment  of  the 
reward — and  whether  we  could  hold  our  faith  indefinitely 
in  the  face  of  demonstrations  to  the  contrary.  I  doubt  it. 
The  main  difference  is  that  education  puts  some  in  better 
position  to  see  over  a  larger  field  or  around  more  corners 
than  others — and  therefore  more  able  to  find  the  demon- 
strations that  support  their  faith.  But  it  is  the  great  pub- 
lic of  all  of  us  that  determines  what  is  the  strength  of  the 
cord  that  ties  the  " to-be"  to  the  "is"  and  makes  the 
right  reward  follow  upon  right  performance.  If  we  in  our 
capacity  as  railway  employers  allow  it  to  come  about  that 
the  tenders  of  switches  and  maintainers  of  track  gain  less 
recognition  in  the  pay  envelope  or  otherwise  than  men 
who  work  with  the  pick  and  the  shovel  elsewhere,  then  we 
must  not  complain  if  men  desert  the  switches. 

If  we  in  our  capacity  as  bestowers  of  good-will  and  recog- 
nitions kowtow  to  the  possessor  of  millions  more  than  to 
the  discoverer  of  new  forces  in  the  molecule,  then  we  must 
not  complain  if  men  go  in  for  the  millions  rather  than  the 
molecules.  If  always  "the  wheel  that  squeaks  the  loudest 
gets  the  most  grease,"  then  we  must  expect  maximum 
squeaking.  If  we  permit  it  to  come  about  that  the  will  to 
do  brings  no  better  recognition  and  no  closer  connection 
with  the  well-to-do  than  does  the  lack  of  it,  then  well- 
doing will  begin  to  be  a  stranger  to  well-being.  And  when 
these  are  no  strangers  then  the  wish  for  the  satisfactions 
of  self-respect  will  begin  to  exert  its  pressure  elsewhere  than 
on  the  job.  If,  furthermore,  that  line  which  is  known  to  tie 
right  moral  results  to  the  right  moral  actions  of  individuals 
is  observed  not  to  operate  for  the  performance  of  groups, 
then  corporations  and  unions  will  alike  seek  to  avoid  the 
responsibilities  of  moral  character.  And  while  the  church 


326       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

may  continue  to  urge  upon  us  all  as  individuals  the  require- 
ments of  the  moral  law,  we  shall  find  it  constantly  easier 
and  easier  to  evade  them  as  more  and  more  our  actions 
become  fused  in  the  activities  of  the  multiple-unit  groups 
which  are  sure  increasingly  to  operate  as  the  great  forces 
and  factors  of  our  modern  life. 

Which  means  that  a  country  is  pretty  sure  to  get  as  good 
government  as  it  deserves  and  as  good  an  industry — no 
better  and  no  worse — because  men  will  see  no  point  in 
their  exerting  more  political  or  industrial  effort  than  they 
have  noticed  from  experience  is  worth  while. 

When  men  are  helped  to  find  in  their  jobs  the  satisfac- 
tions that  make  many  of  us  wish  there  were  more  hours 
in  the  day  for  the  doing  of  our  work,  then — and  only  then 
— will  men  stop  exerting  pressure  to  lessen  the  time  spent 
hi  their  earn-a-living  sector  and  to  increase  the  money  and 
the  hours  which  they  can  take  out  of  it  with  which  to  bring 
up  the  average  of  their  lives  as  a  whole. 

Disappointment  is  sure  to  continue,  also,  if  this  public 
of  all  of  us  with  one  hand  educates  ourselves  to  new  and 
larger  abilities  and,  with  the  other,  fails  to  provide  the 
better  jobs  without  which  these  abilities  will  only  serve  to 
bring  us  disappointment  and  unhappiness.  Such  failure  is 
likely  to  have  serious  consequences  when  the  children  of 
the  present  foreign-born  workers  come  to  the  plant  in 
larger  numbers— after  the  manner  of  the  young  crane-man 
of  the  billet  dock.  Common  labor  with  its  untrained 
hands — and  usually  the  untrained  direction  of  these  hands 
—is  pretty  surely  the  most  expensive  part  of  the  pro- 
ductive process  to-day.  In  addition  it  furnishes  the  most 
unreliable  and  unstable  part  of  our  industrial  structure 
because  its  very  lack  of  training  makes  it  fairly  ready  to 
get  off  of  one  job  and  onto  the  next,  so  long  as  its  require- 
ments are  equally  simple.  Especially  at  this  tune  of  labor 
shortage  all  of  us  should  ask,  for  our  own  security,  that 


THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE  PUBLIC        327 

industry  invent  more  labor-saving  machinery,  especially  in 
its  hottest  and  roughest  jobs,  before  it  lets  this  shortage 
prevent  it  from  discontinuing  the  long  turns  or  before  it 
feels  itself  built  upon  a  secure  foundation  in  men's  feeling 
toward  the  possessors  of  skill. 

The  schools,  the  churches,  the  libraries — all  the  organiza- 
tions for  the  bettering  of  American  life — will  not  suffice  to 
serve  or  save  the  life  of  a  country  unless  that  country's 
industry  furnishes — from  its  top  to  its  bottom — jobs  which 
permit  all  of  us  to  put  into  practicable  and  serviceable  form 
the  inspirations  and  ideals  of  our  best  living.  That  does 
not  mean  at  all  that  jobs  must  be  made  easy  or  clean  and 
comfortable  or  even  interesting — the  worker  does  not  want 
to  loaf,  and  he  can  see  fine  points  in  a  dull  or  monotonous 
job  with  an  eye  that  should  shame  us.  It  does  mean  that 
he  wants  to  feel  sure  that,  when  he  does  give  all  he  has  to 
give,  he  and  his  value  in  it  all  will  not  fail  to  get  something 
like  the  satisfactions  in  his  heart  and  the  recognitions  for 
himself  and  his  family  to  which  he  feels  that  service  entitles 
him.  Like  all  the  rest  of  us,  he  follows  the  line  not  so 
much  of  the  least  resistance  as  that  of  the  maximum  recog- 
nitions per  unit  of  effort. 

If  we  take  millions  of  people,  with  all  the  interests  of  their 
heads  and  the  desires  of  their  hearts,  and  assume  to  dispose 
of  them  under  the  five  letters  of  "labor,"  then  the  lines  be- 
gin dangerously  to  stretch  which  bind  the  future  and  the 
present  together  in  the  way  which  alone  makes  possible 
whatsoever  things  are  true  and  of  good  repute.  Such  a 
strain  upon  the  lines  the  war  has  brought — as  men  saw 
others  getting  unfair  shares  of  money  and  other  recognitions, 
while  the  high  cost  of  living  was  met  better  by  those  who 
fought  for  larger  wages  than  by  those  who,  like  the  teachers, 
trusted  us  to  see  to  their  reward.  One  result  of  that  strain 
is  that  men  are  seen  to  be  working  less  hard  and  generally 
acting  less  reasonably — which  in  turn  gives  the  employer 


328       WHAT'S  ON  THE  WORKER'S  MIND 

a  grievance.  The  strain  upon  those  lines — and  they  have 
only  the  tenuous  strength  of  faith — becomes  highly  danger- 
ous when,  at  so  critical  a  tune,  men  begin  to  argue  for  doing 
away  with  further  attempt  at  understanding  each  other 
and  having  instead  resort  to  machine  guns.  That  only 
plays  into  the  hand  of  the  Bolshevist  agitators  who  see  their 
work  of  disruption  thus  begun  for  them  in  support  of 
their  doctrine  that  there  can  never  be  any  reconciliation 
between  the  seller  and  the  buyer  of  human  energies.  Hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  honest  workers  have  in  the  last  year 
lost — for  a  time  at  least — their  faith  in  us  of  America,  be- 
cause in  our  ignorance  of  them  we  have  found  it  attractive 
to  try  to  save  ourselves  by  blaming  the  general  unrest 
wholly  upon  them. 

The  sweat  and  tears — and,  yes,  the  blood — of  the  long 
days  and  longer  nights  among  the  "boys"  of  the  open- 
hearth  floor,  the  black  "rooms"  "inside"  or  the  greasy  pits 
of  the  "house"  or  the  "yard"  will  not  have  been  in  vain  if 
they  may  somehow  serve  to  lessen  the  number  of  those 
who — with  the  best  of  intentions — are  withholding  that 
understanding  and  recognition  which  is  indispensable  to 
the  whole  scheme  of  organized  life  and  progress — a  rec- 
ognition that  must  be  built  on  some  such  "close-up" 
knowledge  of  men's  hearts  as  these  pages  have  tried  to 
give,  and  on  the  sympathy  without  which  knowledge  seems 
somehow  to  fail  to  carry  on. 

Ten  thousand  men,  so  it  is  said,  must  join  their  forces 
together  for  the  putting  of  the  daily  loaf  upon  our  daily 
table.  But  every  single  one  of  those  forces  is  released  not 
so  much  by  the  force  of  the  others  as  by  virtue  of  each  one's 
faith  in  the  others — faith  that  his  co-operation  will  be  re- 
warded by  theirs.  This  will  always  be  so  as  long  as  hu- 
mans are  human  with  hearts  as  well  as  heads.  Before  we 
lay  the  blame  upon  those  others  or  talk  about  trying  some 
other  plan,  all  of  us,  whether  we  happen  to  think  of  our- 


THE  WAY  OUT  AND  THE  PUBLIC         329 

selves  as  in  the  group  of  persons  called  Capital  or  Manage- 
ment or  Labor  or  the  Public,  should  arrange  to  put  into  this 
present  scheme  a  larger  measure  of  the  two  elements  which 
are  likely  to  prove  sovereign  for  these  trying  times — a  cool 
head  and  a  warm  heart. 


A     000675616     7 


